He looked at the house and shrugged.<br/>"You chased them away. If you think it's safe, I'd accept that."<br/>...<br/>The man shrugged and obediently kept leaning on her in order to reach the designated couch. It wasn't entirely unpleasant, too - she seemed pleasant to his one open eye.<br/>Still, he spared her any glances or moves that could harm her modesty. Not only was she in position to strangle him - he owed her already.<br/>Strength, he knew, was in knowing when to be strong, and when to be soft. And now wasn't the time to play the macho - she was at least partly responsible for him being alive right now.<br/>Doing so, he kept silent, but his mind worked. She had shown preciously little desire to communicate, and he could respect that. But he wouldn't stop thinking.<br/>So, what did he know? The woman was stronger than she seemed, and had avoided giving her name. Did she believe knowing her name would give him power over him? Maybe. It wasn't entirely unfounded, as the scholar in him knew.<br/>He removed his shirt almost absent-mindedly, not expecting she would be impressed with what she saw. He wasn't the kind of guys they hire for body-building magazines, nor did he have the physique usually required for keeping company of older, richer, lusty women.<br/>His body was mostly toned, but this was all from fighting. Even when he practiced for strength, it was with moves like the ones he'd need to use. Which is why he had survived his knowledge-earning trips. And he had the scars to prove it, too - on his shoulders, chest, arms. And on his legs, as he proved after removing his jeans.<br/>Then he collapsed on the couch. That was about as much as he could do.<br/>"If you're planning to ask me", he coughed, but forced himself to continue, "what hurts... the answer is "everything". And I don't include any old pains."