"Attachedish," she answered. But her thoughts were already honing in on exactly the same conclusion as his: the unpleasant chore of putting the shoulder back into place was about as inevitable as anything else involved with this mission. Peggy gave herself the length of three more breaths before she tried (again) to sit up. The injured arm sat limp and tenderly preferred, while she made the other do the brunt of the work. "Give us a hand, won't you?"

She gritted her teeth and nodded at the shoulder in question. What she did not say was that he (having so handily knit himself back together before her eyes) might as well help her get herself set to rights, as well. Any interrogation about his strange healing had to wait until her head wasn't swimming with pain.

It wouldn't do to pass out mid-questioning.