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Oliver stared down at his hands, still holding the paper cup half full of water. He usually didn't give scars a second thought, not the usual kind like a scraped knee, or a mosquito bite that itched even after you had scratched it raw. But some scars, they left more than just a mark on your skin. The pale scars on his shoulder often reminded him of the night he got them, and the long, miserable weeks afterwards. The surgery and physical therapy. He didn't really like looking at them.

The same would have been true if the dagger wound left a scar. Oliver didn't want yet another reminder of his weakness, and how he couldn't even stand up for something he believed in. He would forget the physical pain in due time, but he couldn't forget about his own uselessness.

"I-I'm glad to h-hear it," he stammered, still looking a little unsettled. He didn't want to imagine Ian covered in scars, the image in his mind resembled the mutilated flesh of Finn's healed acid burns. For a second he felt a little dizzy and quickly sat back down in the chair.

"Did your shield break?" He piped up again after a second, trying to look more attentive to the conversation at hand. It wouldn't do any good to get lost in his thoughts.

Finn had told him the same thing. s**t happens.

Oliver's eyes began to water just a little. It was so horrible, all these people talking about burns and cuts and stabs with the same casual affect as having dropped a mug on the tile, or getting a paper cut while filing reports. A bit of rest and relaxation... For any normal person they would feel lucky to just be alive. How could he not worry about it?

He sniffed, and wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his coat. "D-do you want any more t-to drink?"

Oliver couldn't wipe his face anymore, not with the cup of water in one hand, and Ian holding the other. He shuffled closer as he was tugged towards the bed. His lip quivered. And then the tears officially arrived, one slowly dripping down his cheek before he smeared it away with the hand holding the water.

"B-but there is n-nothing I can do," the kid said with another sniff. Somehow he was keeping it mostly together, but there was a tenseness in his body that hinted at just how much was being held behind crumbling walls. "I-I just watch everyone get hurt, and I can't be out there. I can't fight, and I can't even stand up for myself. When I w-was fighting that one hunter, he stabbed me a-and I was just so afraid, I c-couldn't defend myself or anyone. I just ran away, while there are so many people better than me fighting bigger battles I can only run away a-and hide here. I-... I-..."

Oliver hiccuped and fell silent, fighting his own inner battle to regain control over the tears. It was so backwards... Ian was the one hurting, yet here he was on the edge of a breakdown. Better people were injured, and fought and died, but he was still here. How was that okay?

Oliver choked back a sob, and rubbed his face so fervently he almost spilled the water. How could Ian be so sure his existence wasn't just a mistake? He didn't know how to be brave, how could he have potential?

He sniffed again, not pulling his hand back, or withdrawing as Ian kissed the tips of his fingers. The man's lips were rough, the heat hadn't been kind to them either. But how did Ian find the strength to be so tough and confident... and yet so gentle at the same time? Alistaire was right, he did wear his heart on his sleeve, and when you held your heart like that you had to be gentle.

The kid shook his head at the unexpected question that came along with the change in topic. "I-I d-don't..." He admitted. For a second he looked down toward the foot of the bed, and away from Ian, almost as though he were ashamed of his lack of food. And then there was a weak perking up as a thought hit him. "Ah, I do... um... know where they keep the jello though..."

Oliver did indeed brighten up, only to wilt slightly a moment later. "Ah.. I-I'm n-not sure where those are... I-I c-can look though!"

Setting the cup of water on the table next to the bed, the Life trainee leapt off to go be useful. Compared to the helplessness of just... being there, unharmed, even little things like fetching jello could bring an improvement in mood. He was gone for only a short time, and as he got closer he held up a little wrapped knife, fork, and napkin packet.

"I-I f-found these!" He exclaimed in his most appropriate 'late night' voice, setting the wrapped cutlery on the table next to the water, and then pulled a little single-portion jello cup from his pocket. It was red, with no indication as to what sort of fruit juice it might be made of. "I-I d-didn't know what flavour you liked... So I... ah..." That was when Oliver pulled another jello cup out of his pocket, and then another. He set them all on the table. "I-I b-brought a c-couple."

It was more than a couple, four jello cups, red, orange, yellow, and even a startling green, were lined up next to the cutlery and glass of water.

If Oliver had been a puppy, his tail would have been wagging up a storm. "Y-you're welcome!' he chirped, and then all of a sudden he went digging through an inside pocket of his jacket. There were a lot of pockets in that kid's coat, but from one of them he produced a fifth jello cup. "I-I forgot about the grape one!"

Setting it on the table next to the others, Oliver took a seat on the edge of the chair. It looked like he was waiting for some new instructions.

Oliver blinked. "My pocket," he said as he pointed to a pocket inside his coat, clueless in the face of Ian's sense of humour. At first the coat had felt odd, too stiff and too heavy, but now that he had worn it for so long it was starting to feel natural. Sometimes he felt a little bit naked without it.