[ He doesn't wait. Leaves his patient where he's finally settled him, casts a similar film of magic to the ones that keep the outside out in the continued absence of any glass in his windows, and opens his door to Takeshi's place so he can slot the spell safe between them and lay eyes on him.
He hasn't taken time to clean the blood from where it's smeared in messy handprints over the front of his shirt, or where it cakes one pant leg tight against his ankle and sheens red over the toe of his shoe. There's a spattered line of it crossed in a diagonal over his arm and hip like thrown paint, palms and forearms stained, smears across his forehead and his cheek where he hasn't been mindful. No injuries, no sign of harm. He's fine, even if he looks like he's just left a crime scene.
What he's much more interested in is making sure the same can be said of Takeshi. Gaze sharp and roving, nostrils flared and breath heavy, he stands there in ominous silence and inspects through the near-invisible shimmer of spellwork that keeps them apart. ]
[If the urgency of Stephen's tone hadn't registered, Takeshi might have given into pettiness, sat somewhere out of view and taken his sweet time moving when the door opened. Instead, he's immediately visible, leant against the wall opposite the door, idly watching the street below the window as he waits.
There's no pretence to his appearance, no attempt to disguise injury, instability, because there's none to disguise. He's whole, unharmed, looking much as he would any other day, except perhaps slightly more dressed than he usually opts for when he's working. As the door opens, as he turns to look at Stephen, it's evident there's nothing unusual in his expression, either. His eyes are clear, focussed, reaction as swift but steady as always in how he takes in the vision Stephen makes, moves to approach the door.
The blood isn't Stephen's, he knows - he wouldn't still be standing, if he'd lost that much - which means it's the source of the urgency he'd recommenced the conversation with. Someone else experiencing what Takeshi is, without the control he has, important enough to Stephen to receive physical manhandling in immediate, emotional reaction, rather than a more pragmatic use of his magic.]
Stark.
[The question in his expression isn't for whether he's right or not: it's for if Tony had survived whatever he'd done to himself. What specific weight Stephen might be carrying, now.]
[ An answer to the unspoken question, automatic and clinical as Stephen's assessment of Takeshi's state takes precedence. But he's in one piece, no clear signs of injury or heightened distress. He can trust this, the evidence of his own eyes.
Some of the tension unwinds from his shoulders, from the clench of his jaw. Far from enough to call him relaxed, but it's clear that Takeshi's ready appearance has capped off the climb of anxiety. ]
I need an open line of communication. Until this is over.
[ No matter their frustrations, no matter who's still pissed. This is no longer about Takeshi's aptitude for assessing and acknowledging his own state. Now that he's seen for himself what this thing can do, Stephen will not spend one single day shut out, forced to turn up unwanted or else imagine him on the cusp of an accidental death. ]
[No argument, no pointing out that he hadn't closed down communication. Takeshi just nods, simple agreement for a pragmatic necessity. His own, in reply:]
I need updates and check-ins. One daily, minimum.
[There's no ignoring the concern Takeshi feels for the set of Stephen's expression, the desire he has to alleviate the strain. Step through the door and help him clean up, take post monitoring Stark, make sure Stephen eats. Until this is over, he's going to be limited to this room. He won't be isolated and rendered ignorant by it.]
[ An answering nod in response, no hesitation. Their needs align. There's relief in it. The mutuality of the arrangement eases a little more of his tension and with nothing left to fight, he eases himself away from the influence of leftover adrenaline, from the instinct to expect the next worst thing.
In its absence the contents of his last hour creep up on him, tug at the corners of his mouth. He carries on regardless, hand up on the door frame, thumb curling until it's tucked against the invisible barrier between rooms. ]
... I'll leave this open. Sometimes. [ As much as he can get away with. ] More direct.
[Takeshi's silent for a moment, watching him. When he tips his head, it's both a nod and a turn. These basic, pragmatic measures agreed upon, but Takeshi is still angry, and Stephen is veering to exhaustion, has a patient to care for.]
You should clean up. Eat something.
[As he moves away from the door again, back to the window, the sill where he'd left his drink.]
[ It's not the best conclusion to a conversation he's had, but it's better than it might have been. Stephen nods unseen, patting the door frame lightly as he dregs up the resolve to step away and not through. ]
Yeah. I'll be back later this evening. Let me know if you need anything.
[ For now, he'll give him his privacy. Steps back, closing the door between them and leaving Takeshi to his drink. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
cw: blood
He hasn't taken time to clean the blood from where it's smeared in messy handprints over the front of his shirt, or where it cakes one pant leg tight against his ankle and sheens red over the toe of his shoe. There's a spattered line of it crossed in a diagonal over his arm and hip like thrown paint, palms and forearms stained, smears across his forehead and his cheek where he hasn't been mindful. No injuries, no sign of harm. He's fine, even if he looks like he's just left a crime scene.
What he's much more interested in is making sure the same can be said of Takeshi. Gaze sharp and roving, nostrils flared and breath heavy, he stands there in ominous silence and inspects through the near-invisible shimmer of spellwork that keeps them apart. ]
no subject
There's no pretence to his appearance, no attempt to disguise injury, instability, because there's none to disguise. He's whole, unharmed, looking much as he would any other day, except perhaps slightly more dressed than he usually opts for when he's working. As the door opens, as he turns to look at Stephen, it's evident there's nothing unusual in his expression, either. His eyes are clear, focussed, reaction as swift but steady as always in how he takes in the vision Stephen makes, moves to approach the door.
The blood isn't Stephen's, he knows - he wouldn't still be standing, if he'd lost that much - which means it's the source of the urgency he'd recommenced the conversation with. Someone else experiencing what Takeshi is, without the control he has, important enough to Stephen to receive physical manhandling in immediate, emotional reaction, rather than a more pragmatic use of his magic.]
Stark.
[The question in his expression isn't for whether he's right or not: it's for if Tony had survived whatever he'd done to himself. What specific weight Stephen might be carrying, now.]
no subject
[ An answer to the unspoken question, automatic and clinical as Stephen's assessment of Takeshi's state takes precedence. But he's in one piece, no clear signs of injury or heightened distress. He can trust this, the evidence of his own eyes.
Some of the tension unwinds from his shoulders, from the clench of his jaw. Far from enough to call him relaxed, but it's clear that Takeshi's ready appearance has capped off the climb of anxiety. ]
I need an open line of communication. Until this is over.
[ No matter their frustrations, no matter who's still pissed. This is no longer about Takeshi's aptitude for assessing and acknowledging his own state. Now that he's seen for himself what this thing can do, Stephen will not spend one single day shut out, forced to turn up unwanted or else imagine him on the cusp of an accidental death. ]
no subject
I need updates and check-ins. One daily, minimum.
[There's no ignoring the concern Takeshi feels for the set of Stephen's expression, the desire he has to alleviate the strain. Step through the door and help him clean up, take post monitoring Stark, make sure Stephen eats. Until this is over, he's going to be limited to this room. He won't be isolated and rendered ignorant by it.]
no subject
In its absence the contents of his last hour creep up on him, tug at the corners of his mouth. He carries on regardless, hand up on the door frame, thumb curling until it's tucked against the invisible barrier between rooms. ]
... I'll leave this open. Sometimes. [ As much as he can get away with. ] More direct.
no subject
You should clean up. Eat something.
[As he moves away from the door again, back to the window, the sill where he'd left his drink.]
&wrap!
Yeah. I'll be back later this evening. Let me know if you need anything.
[ For now, he'll give him his privacy. Steps back, closing the door between them and leaving Takeshi to his drink. ]