"You sound like Elena," he tells her, wrinkling his nose. He's gotten this lecture before, been ordered around like this before when he's been busted up and half-dead. He remembers the quirk of a smirk when she'd said her wedding vows, for better or worse with a hint of irony. He sits on the couch anyway, tipping his head back.

Taking his shoes off one-handed is more effort than it should be, so he settles for toeing them off his heels and not bothering with the laces. He glances up at her like he's making a point that he managed all by himself, and then he kicks them into a corner of the room. He's just glad Cassius didn't see fit to break his feet or his kneecaps or something. He doesn't know what he would have done if he couldn't walk.

"Who said that?" he jokes, rolling his head to smile at her a little lopsidedly. One of his eyes is still swollen but it's better than it was, and he can see, if a little blearily. "Teeth're fine," he assures her, making grabby hands for the sandwich. He's starving he realises with surprise. Getting your ass kicked gives a guy an appetite, who knew?