"Of course. I will always find my way back to you," Glacius murmurs, slipping one hand up to thread through Carlisle's mussed hair, trying to tease its strands out to something a little straighter. He keeps up his gentle ministrations as his partner gradually relaxes, only stopping when the clergyman takes his hand and leads him inside the shed.

The alien wastes no time casting a look around, but what immediately grabs his attention is, of course, the prevalent stench of alcohol. To his surprise, he finds it coming mainly from a broken bottle, the mark it has left against the wall and the spread of shards clearly indicating it was tossed there. Moreover, he couldn't smell much on Carlisle when the human came out to greet him--couldn't detect a hint of it on the clergyman's breath. Glacius has no doubt that he was tempted, but to think that he might have actually resisted it this time around instead of caving as he has in the past is... remarkably significant.

Sitting down right next to Carlisle and immediately extending one hand to cup his partner's cheek, Glacius is about to ask him about it when the clergyman speaks up himself. The alien silences himself and listens, frowning at even this bare recounting. "I can imagine. I felt it... the moment I picked up that gun. It wanted me to fight... to win, tugging at my muscles and my mind, calling me to... attack you." The ice alien pauses; his gills flutter and he shifts with horrific discomfort at the very thought. "I thought I was protecting you by destroying them, but instead I rendered myself unable to do that at all. Did anyone attack you? Are you injured in any way?"