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It had been such a long, hectic day. Oliver was run off his feet between errands and filing and paperwork and having his nervous face kept out of the infirmary while he worked. Then dinner and visits... It had gotten late before Oliver returned to the infirmary to check on the other person he knew who had been hurt in that mission.

More than anything, Oliver thought Ian needed a break. He already seemed so heartsick to begin with, and then his earlier injuries... It seemed like life was kicking him while he was down. But he didn't know the man well enough to help him with his problems. And unfortunately, aside from booze, he wasn't sure what sort of thing he could bring to at least let Ian know someone was thinking of him.

So at the end of the day he was still empty-handed, collapsing into a chair that sat not too far away from Ian's bed. Although it was a larger ward, the infirmary brought back many familiar memories for the teen. The soft, fluorescent lighting muted above the beds. The smell of antiseptic. The hum of machinery and the soft whirr of the ventilation system. The stillness was so lonely, just like it had been years back. Oliver could remember that stillness more than anything, the quiet emptiness that had surrounded him, and his flowers and the card from his classmates, and even the fluffy 'get well soon' stuffed bear. He remembered wondering, as lonely children sometimes did, if he had been abandoned there.

It was odd, being on that side of the bed, being the one who occupied the empty chair that was always nearby. He would only sit there a minute, and then maybe go write Ian a note, and leave a promise to visit him tomorrow...

But Oliver didn't last that long. He let his eyes close just for a minute, and then he was fast asleep slumped in that uncomfortable chair.

Even though Oliver had gotten a little more confident on the island, he was not yet at the point where he could sleep through the voice addressing him. He awoke with a terrified jerk, and promptly fell off the chair. A frightened gasp and the thud of his ungraceful fall were the only sounds he made in the soft light.

For the barest second he looked lost and confused, but quickly came to remember where he was when he saw Ian awake.

"Ah! You're awake!" He exclaimed, in the most gentle everyone-in-the-room-is-sleeping voice. "A-are you okay? I-I d-didn't mean to sleep, I-I was going to... uh..." Oliver trailed off uselessly, realizing he no longer had to leave a note if Ian was actually awake.

"N-no, it wasn't you!" Oliver insisted, waving both hands in front of him. "I think.. um... it must have been a bad dream or something..." Now that he was awake, it was hard to remember what he had been dreaming of. Everything was already faded. He just knew it hadn't been anything good, there was that lingering fear and sadness he couldn't pin down.

He scrambled to his feet and made nervous gestures at Ian. "Y-you shouldn't b-be doing that," Oliver protested. "A-are your other injuries even healed yet?" Why did Ian always have to push himself? Maybe Alistaire had been right, in a way, Ian didn't seem to know better when it came to things like recklessly acting without paying attention to the consequences. Oliver could still feel a bit of pain where he had been stabbed by that dagger, although Jökul had been doing an amazing job, his leg ached after being walked on all day.

Oliver began to turn a bright shade of red, and shook his head quickly. How cold Ian even ask such a thing in the current situation? He was bandaged up worse than an NPC in a hack and slash zombie game. Besides, was there anything fun on the island?

"I d-don't know about fun..." He said quietly, feeling the dull throb in his calf muscle. "But this is more important! A-are you okay even? Why do you have to ignore everything like it's nothing?"

The kid looked almost startled by his own outburst, and sheepishly looked away. "S-sorry, I-I d-didn't mean it..."

Oliver barely glanced up, but when he did it was an expression of disapproval. That was a HORRIBLE pun Ian, absolutely HORRIBLE. But the kid wasn't going to press the point. Not now at least, he was the sort who needed some time to regain his courage, or at least forget he was about to be shut down the next time it came up.

His expression softened. "D-does it hurt much? I-I c-can get someone else if you want."

Ian may have avoided the 'ignoring' question, but Oliver was about as keen to avoid the topic of 'fun'. He had... moments of relaxation, like when he walked outside the walls and could smell salt water on the breeze. Or when he got so engrossed in a case file during his lunch break that his curiosity caught up with, and even overcame, his crippling fear of everything. But 'fun' itself had been abandoned when he came to the island, here he was resigned to work and then sooner or later get killed by something.

Trying to stall that eventual death was his reason for not letting go.

"I can't help it," Oliver said really quietly. He didn't have much else to do, work was primarily a distraction from the worry. Sleep was a distraction from the worry. He was perhaps the most helpless hunter on the island, and that made for a lot of worrying. And not just for himself, but for the people around him who were sent out on dangerous missions while he sat there doing paperwork and cleaning minipet cages.

If he had been a puppy, Ian would have seen ears perking the moment he spoke up. "Y-yes! I-I'll be right back!" He said quickly, nearly knocking over the chair in his haste to stand up and hasten to the closest sink where there was a dispenser of paper cups, and taps that dispensed both regular tap water, and distilled water.

Somehow he avoided spilling the cup on the way back, it had taken him less than thirty seconds from start to finish. Jack had made him a very efficient drink-runner.

"H-here, can you hold it?" He asked, hovering at the side of the bed.

Oliver's hands were cold to the touch, and he jumped slightly when Ian simply put his hand over it instead of taking the cup. But there was still visible relief there. A tenseness seemed to slip from Oliver's body now that he could be of some use, and that Ian was willing to take at least some help.

"Y-you're welcome," he stammered gently, not quite managing to look away from the burned areas on the hand that covered his.

After a second of silence he spoke up again. "Your weapon... It will really heal all of this?" Oliver was able to believe the healing of little things, like the huge bruises after being tossed into the shower that barely lasted two days before they had completely disappeared. He was even more amazed at the speed of tissue reparation when it came to his leg. It was looking pretty good considering how recently he had a dagger stuck in it. But the burns he had seen... Could their weapons really fix it all?

Oliver lifted the glass of water, a silent question, but continued with the topic at hand. "Would it... ah... leave a scar?" His curiosity had very few outlets these days, the questions themselves hesitant and definitely nervous. Like he was more afraid of the person he was asking than the answer to the question. But at least Ian was getting those questions. Most of Oliver's interactions with his superiors and his peers involved frightened head shakes or hasty nods.

He glanced away from Ian, like he was trying to hide something. "Um... what about... uh, that place you were stabbed? D-did it leave a scar? The one on the front?" It was an oddly specific question.