Harlow flashed a faint smile at his question, tying off the first stitching and moving to the next. "I guess it does. No more hostage for you. You're, uh, free to go. I guess." She teased, a slightly anxious undertone. It was true. She wasn't going to stop him from leaving if he tried- but she had gotten very used to not being alone. Specifically not being alone with him.

He was visibly tensing every time she touched him with the needle but he was doing better than even he was expecting. "I should probably ..tell my dad that I'm not dead at some point." He didn't want to but disappearing from the family tree just wasn't very enticing. Plus, he didn't want him to worry.

Harlow continued, steadfast for someone repeating the same motion over and over again through... flesh. But she seemed unphased, tying off the knot for that slice and then moving to the one on his chest. She stood and looked at him for a moment, deciding the best way to get at the wound with the awkward position. She ended up simply leaning over it, bringing her face somewhat close to both the wound and his head. She started stitching as he spoke. "Yeah. That's probably smart. Just- how do you plan to do that without just... going back to your family?" She asked lightly, as though the subject didn't bother her. It did though, more than She would have liked it to.

He took a breath as she finished the ones on his abdomen. He sat quiet on her question, working up an answer. "Probably eccentric use of safe words, probably over the phone which I don't think we have right now?" He paused. "Which is fine because I don't think I'm awake enough for a conversation of such prominence." He seemed to finally be more relaxed, it still hurt but he wasn't panicking anymore.

"We have an old school one. If you really need to make a call we can figure it out." Harlow nodded, finishing the stitches on his chest quickly. "Now this is the one that's gonna suck, alright? It's only a few stitches though so bare with me." She said, gently raising her hands and pressing one to his temple just to let him know She was there. She started working on the stitch slowly, especially since it was so close to his eye. "Well I didn't figure you would call them now, dingbat." She muttered softly.

He really hadn't realized she was going to do the one on his eye til she actually started. For once he would've preferred a warning, bringing up his leg sharply. But he was trying not to move. "You- couldn't have warned me?" His voice was taut, trying not to much very much but he was definitely finding this one the hardest out of all of them to sit still for.

Harlow paused as his leg came up, her hand flying to rest on his knee instinctively. "No. I couldn't have. Are you gonna question my methods or let me do it now and you can yell at me later?" She asked lightly, raising her hand and continuing to stitch, focused. Despite the fact that he moved somewhat a lot, she finished string and tied the stitch off in a minute. She set the needle away and moved back. "Okay, you're done. Now you can yell at me." She said lightly, grabbing a wash cloth and wetting it so she could clean the excess blood off of him, and then herself.

He clenched his jaw as she touched his leg, he stayed quiet as she let go and finished. He pulled his head up slightly and sat up. "Do I seem like the yelling type?" His voice was sarcastic and teasing, but very soft. He moved his eyebrow slightly, it felt weird now.

"No, you seem more like the 'I'm not mad, just dissapointed' type with a very soft voice that makes you feel extra bad." Harlow mocked, putting the first aid kit away. "Try not to move your eyebrow too much, I don't want it to move the stitches." She said lightly, digging through the duffel bag she had grabbed and tossing a change of clothes in his lap. "In case you didn't want to be soaked in blood." She joked, grabbing his blood soaked shirt and the duffel, then walking lightly out of the bathroom.

"You're probably right." He leaned forward slightly, looking over her medical care. It looked better than he'd had at some point or another. He huffed at her, having stitches was hard. "Thank you." He said as she left.

Mark walked out, his hair wet. New clothes, dark ones luckily for him. And his face was no longer covered in blood- though his eye was still tinted red and foggy to see out of. He glanced around, looking exhausted.