Gotcha))

Harlow quickly threaded a sterilized needle, shaking her head. "No, sorry. This won't take long though. Are you afraid of needles?" She asked lightly, sitting up and placing her hand on his chest so she could press him to lean back.

He was rather stressed by the answer. He looked honestly more concerned about the needle that he had at any point when he was being sliced and diced. He nodded. "Quite." He scooted back a little and leaned back til he touched something to rest on, which was cold.

"I'm sorry, then. This is gonna suck. But do you think you can get through it for me?" She asked carefully, swiping the alcohol pad over his side wounds again.

He let his head hang backward slightly. "We'll find out." His breath hitched as she touched his wounds. He was just grounding himself, hoping he wouldn't try to faint on her.

"It's not as bad as you think. While I'm doing it, raise your foot, and focus on holding it up. Close your eyes for me, please." She said lightly, getting on her knees to be closer to the wound.

"I'm too tired to lift my foot, can I count sheep instead?" He joked slightly, he still didn't do anything to distract himself. Other than the fact that he was thinking about his dad. He didn't know what he was gonna do, but he couldn't hide from him forever.

"I'd prefer it be something done physically that doesn't involve you going to sleep, but whatever. Close your eyes, dumbass." Harlow said lightly, glaring at him and keeping her hand pressed against his chest as she waited for him to do as she asked.

"I'm too stressed to go to sleep. My eyes are shut." He did have them shut, he wanted to ask her something but was having trouble finding time. He didn't know why but right then seemed like a great time to start conversation (after she starts).

"Thank you." She said flatly, and simply started stitching him up without saying a word. Her free hand rested gently on his abdomen as she worked, surprisingly quickly for someone who was made to kill rather than heal.

Mark on the other hand, clenched his jaw, he could feel that he was not exactly doing well. Getting lightheaded while sitting tends to not be a good sign. "So technically does this mean I'm not a hostage anymore?" His voice was vaguely soft.