[ Yeah, Ian looks like a hot mess. Not the fun kind either, and when he crashes, Mace can tell it’ll be like a goddamn stone to the bottom of a river. He hadn't even recovered from the fucking wound in his chest, the cauterization after, and this is ... exactly what Mace had been worried about, earlier.
He wants to tell him to stop, for a while. They’re arguably safer here than they’d been back in the cave, because the way behind them’s blocked and whatever’s headed their way is extremely likely to be found much further ahead. But they’d stopped before, hadn’t they, and where had that gotten them, exactly? Trapped in an underground tunnel, with one way out if they’re lucky, all possible monstrosities included. And he can see the way Ian’s working. Diligent, focused, uninterrupted.
So Mace stays quiet, focuses on the task at hand, making the torches. Folding the shirt neatly, setting it aside. Moves on to cutting off a short length of the rope Ian’s already started to make, enough to bundle the extra torches together.
He’s started coiling the rope round, foot by foot, when Ian breaks the silence with a question that Mace himself has been mulling over. ]
You remember the hospital mask? Being drawn to it? The stuff in the cave, I think I wanted to … it was the same, for me. [ He casts a dubious side-glance at the lantern, and then shakes his head. ]
Back then we thought it was a warning, or a puzzle. Turned out to be a trigger.
[ Again, that fucking feeling at the back of his mind. What is it? What the fuck is he missing? Mace goes over the murder-note in his head, all the stuff along with it, until he feels like he’s going in crazy fucking circles with nothing to show for it.
And then his mind trips over something, hard.
It’s about the same time his gaze lands on Ian again, the way exhaustion is creeping into his expression, unmistakably headed toward one conclusion. His eyelids lowering every now and then before he blinks hard and fast a few times. The way he’s drooping forward with an invisible weight on his shoulders. Wilting.
His hand goes out before he can think it through, fingers setting at Ian’s wrist. They’re gentle, but Mace’s voice is firm. ]
That's enough rope. The rest, you can make after you sleep.
[ He knows they hadn’t wanted to do watches in the cabin, had opted for sleeping at the same time because fuck it. But right now Ian's about to drop. Mace might be banged up but he's far too keyed up to catch a single wink. ]
I know I made a mistake. But I won’t let anything get to you while you’re out. On my life, man.
no subject
He wants to tell him to stop, for a while. They’re arguably safer here than they’d been back in the cave, because the way behind them’s blocked and whatever’s headed their way is extremely likely to be found much further ahead. But they’d stopped before, hadn’t they, and where had that gotten them, exactly? Trapped in an underground tunnel, with one way out if they’re lucky, all possible monstrosities included. And he can see the way Ian’s working. Diligent, focused, uninterrupted.
So Mace stays quiet, focuses on the task at hand, making the torches. Folding the shirt neatly, setting it aside. Moves on to cutting off a short length of the rope Ian’s already started to make, enough to bundle the extra torches together.
He’s started coiling the rope round, foot by foot, when Ian breaks the silence with a question that Mace himself has been mulling over. ]
You remember the hospital mask? Being drawn to it? The stuff in the cave, I think I wanted to … it was the same, for me. [ He casts a dubious side-glance at the lantern, and then shakes his head. ]
Back then we thought it was a warning, or a puzzle. Turned out to be a trigger.
[ Again, that fucking feeling at the back of his mind. What is it? What the fuck is he missing? Mace goes over the murder-note in his head, all the stuff along with it, until he feels like he’s going in crazy fucking circles with nothing to show for it.
And then his mind trips over something, hard.
It’s about the same time his gaze lands on Ian again, the way exhaustion is creeping into his expression, unmistakably headed toward one conclusion. His eyelids lowering every now and then before he blinks hard and fast a few times. The way he’s drooping forward with an invisible weight on his shoulders. Wilting.
His hand goes out before he can think it through, fingers setting at Ian’s wrist. They’re gentle, but Mace’s voice is firm. ]
That's enough rope. The rest, you can make after you sleep.
[ He knows they hadn’t wanted to do watches in the cabin, had opted for sleeping at the same time because fuck it. But right now Ian's about to drop. Mace might be banged up but he's far too keyed up to catch a single wink. ]
I know I made a mistake. But I won’t let anything get to you while you’re out. On my life, man.