[ He closes his eyes for a second, a faint smile snaking onto his face at that. Doesn’t show up in his voice, though, Mace keeping to their brand of dry and quiet as he agrees, ]
I’ll do shots off your scar. Third base.
[ Or maybe that’s the stitches he’s gonna have to put into Ian — he can handle that, but cauterizing, that’s a little above his pay grade. The smile fades at the thought of it, and at how weak and goddamn drained Ian’s voice sounds — sapped of all energy, like it’s taking everything out of him just to verbalize.
And the guy wants to get up and reinforce doors. ]
You need to do exactly one thing and that’s — [ Fucking live, but that’s a stone’s throw away from the implication that he might not, and hell no. Mace isn’t putting that shit into the Universe. Not that he’s superstitious on any level at all, but some things are better left unthought as well as unsaid. ]
Stay put, and maybe get something in you before you pass out, if you really feel like doing me a solid.
[ There’s enough food in the kitchen that they’ll be good for that, he can unplug the damn fridge and take it with them to whichever room they decide to barricade themselves in. Mace shifts up and forward, craning his head around to try and get eyes on Ian so he can stress the importance of what he's saying, his voice going firm and losing all traces of fatigue. ]
I mean it. You just got sliced open like Thanksgiving dinner, your body's in shock and it needs to heal. It can’t do that if you start running around on fumes, even after stitches or —
[ Cauterizing might need to be on the table after all, if Ian can’t muster up the energy to manifest a needle and surgical thread. They already have everything on hand for that, as much as the thought of it bothers Mace. ]
We'll hole up in one of the bedrooms, but if you so much as try to stand up, I’m gonna tie you right back down.
[ Whatever’s needed to be done, he can do it on his own. That’s the least he can do after Ian almost got killed on his watch. ]
no subject
I’ll do shots off your scar. Third base.
[ Or maybe that’s the stitches he’s gonna have to put into Ian — he can handle that, but cauterizing, that’s a little above his pay grade. The smile fades at the thought of it, and at how weak and goddamn drained Ian’s voice sounds — sapped of all energy, like it’s taking everything out of him just to verbalize.
And the guy wants to get up and reinforce doors. ]
You need to do exactly one thing and that’s — [ Fucking live, but that’s a stone’s throw away from the implication that he might not, and hell no. Mace isn’t putting that shit into the Universe. Not that he’s superstitious on any level at all, but some things are better left unthought as well as unsaid. ]
Stay put, and maybe get something in you before you pass out, if you really feel like doing me a solid.
[ There’s enough food in the kitchen that they’ll be good for that, he can unplug the damn fridge and take it with them to whichever room they decide to barricade themselves in. Mace shifts up and forward, craning his head around to try and get eyes on Ian so he can stress the importance of what he's saying, his voice going firm and losing all traces of fatigue. ]
I mean it. You just got sliced open like Thanksgiving dinner, your body's in shock and it needs to heal. It can’t do that if you start running around on fumes, even after stitches or —
[ Cauterizing might need to be on the table after all, if Ian can’t muster up the energy to manifest a needle and surgical thread. They already have everything on hand for that, as much as the thought of it bothers Mace. ]
We'll hole up in one of the bedrooms, but if you so much as try to stand up, I’m gonna tie you right back down.
[ Whatever’s needed to be done, he can do it on his own. That’s the least he can do after Ian almost got killed on his watch. ]