Bedside manner

Naked arms, his secrets still like songs I never learned The way he said physically made something in Remi wince at the implications. Did that then mean she wasn't okay in some other capacity? Healed of most of his burns, Remi's eyes ran across Rory in a quick sweep again, now wondering if there would be signs of some other sort of nefarious injury apparent on the blue-eyed man. But that was the thing about wounds to the heart and the soul, they hid oh so well when you wanted them too. Were they not in a hospital room where Rory had been all but sequestered, Remi might have laughed. He was good at little else, if not laughing at his own misfortunes and stupidity, but the edge in Rory's voice silenced whatever amusement he might have wanted to shower between them to wash away the pain. Instead he merely exhaled a soft hum of understanding. Watching as Rory's fingers rose (were they still sore from how he'd held the lantern all those weeks ago? and why did Remi remember that at all?), the lines on the alchemist's forehead creased as his lips parted in a soft sigh and O of unhappiness. 'If you had died—" He started to say, accent hovering mysteriously around the words as he let them linger and then fall. If Rory had died, what? I would have regretted all the shapes in the clouds I never pointed out. I would have regretted not winning your friendship enough to feed Bakshi the molasses crumbs from my pocket. I would regret not knowing if your hands are as calloused as mine. But even though certain things which might have come to pass between them had not, turning from latency to memory, still there were things the alchemist could not say, and so his eyes simply dropped to the bedside as a warm smile assembled itself onto his face. "—I am glad that you are all alive. " Clearing his throat slightly, the alchemist looked around the room. "How long will you be here for? Is there anything you need? I can—" Still rather awkward about the abundance of magic at his disposal now (how much of it was Rory even aware of?), Remi held up his hands, palms-up, to try and indicate that he could make the man things, if he needed them. It was a poor charade at best, but the words felt uncomfortable on his tongue.