[ Well, he's not wrong. She's seen a great deal in the war, which also means that if it is her ribs, there really isn't much to be done about it. Certainly not down on the surface when anything technologically advanced is above their heads and literally out of reach. The worrying is appreciated, but only marginally. Peggy levels him with a quiet but firm look and it all but says not to press the issue. ]

I can manage, thank you. [ Not precisely convincing with the way she's (they're?) practically limping down the street. They likely make a sight, Percy's sleeve bloodstained and the pair of them covered in cuts and bruises. ] I can stitch your shoulder up at home, if you'll let me. If, after all that, we need a little more help... [ She exhales slowly, almost a hiss. ] Then we'll call in a favour. All right?

[ And she rather prefers nursing her wounds (and pride, to be frank) in the privacy of her own home. Where there's bourbon. Not that she'll have a drink in front of Percy, but the reassurance is there all the same. ]