The thief gave a single, slow shake of his head, but even that seemed to be too much and he hissed, blue eyes hazy with pain clenching shut at the electric stab shooting through his skull. He’d had worse, though. He could deal. He just…needed to get back up. Before he passed out completely. Come on, body.
Move.
“N-no,” he breathed, planting a hand on the cool bathroom floor to attempt to at least push himself back up into a seated position and even that took too much time and energy – that he didn’t even have – but at least leaning against the wall was better than staying sprawled on the floor. “Think I lost ‘em. Should be fine. Sorry—”
Another breath, a hand pressing weakly against his side, head tilting ever so slightly to throw the blond a faint grin.
“—‘bout your carpet. ‘M happy t’ pay for th’ cleaning.”
“Let’s not worry about that now… If you’ve gotten blood on the Persian, it wouldn’t be the first time, and I’ll just take care of it later… let’s focus, now, on you.”
The detective set the supplies down, then crossed over to the sink while rolling his sleeves up to his elbow. Hot water running, he washed his hands with soap, dried them off, then returned to the scene to kneel down in front of him. “Do you have an assessment of your injuries? What’s the most critical? I’ve sutures here for minor things, but if it’s worse…”
He sighed, already feeling the irritation creeping in. “But I suppose I couldn’t persuade you to go to a hospital even if you needed it, right?”