Ned takes the handkerchief, though it takes two tries. He's strangely uncoordinated. "Thanks," he mutters, worries for a moment about staining it before he presses it to the tender spot, putting a small amount of pressure, which is as much as he can bear.
"That's my line," he says, in response to Meyer's reassurance. He ought to have thought to be the one to say it first. This is nothing, compared to some of what he's been through here. Just a bump on the head. Could have been worse. The roof could have collapsed on him. He could have been stuck under that bookcase for much longer before someone found him.
Come to think of it, why had Meyer found him?
"What were you doing in the library?" he asks, and the question seems terribly important at the moment, though the concussion might be to blame for that.
no subject
"That's my line," he says, in response to Meyer's reassurance. He ought to have thought to be the one to say it first. This is nothing, compared to some of what he's been through here. Just a bump on the head. Could have been worse. The roof could have collapsed on him. He could have been stuck under that bookcase for much longer before someone found him.
Come to think of it, why had Meyer found him?
"What were you doing in the library?" he asks, and the question seems terribly important at the moment, though the concussion might be to blame for that.