Claire didn't quite remember how it happened: she knew that she was trying to check the Viking woman - Sif's - Sif's awareness of person, place, and time, after she woke up, and Sif was even worse than Matt at staying still and keeping out of the way of people who were trying to help her.

Suffice to say that Sif wound up pacing down Claire's hallway, shedding armor and weird - weirdly silky clothing - as she looked for a bathroom.

(Claire was a nurse, she'd seen people naked, she really had, but Sif had hard biceps and a narrow waist and an ugly scar curling around her ribs, and - and she was startlingly beautiful, even in Claire's shitty little apartment hallway with the stained carpet.)

"I beg pardon," she said, and she turned to look at Claire. Who kept her eyes firmly above collarbones, in this particular region. "I would wash." Sif made a face. "I find the smoke of these particular automobiles particularly unpleasant."

"Sure," Claire said, why did everyone Matt knew have to be so hot and worrying? "Just -the blood, too, and if you need stitches, I can. I can do that."

"Thank you for your courtesy," Sif said.