That gets a shaky sigh of relief to slip form all of Glacius' quavering gills. He knows it will likely take a lot more than simply resting for Carlisle to recover from this, but it's such a profound comfort to hear his partner speaking with any amount of optimism that it does help him feel a bit better about their chances. The alien treks them both back to their home as quickly as he can go without jostling the ailing human, holding him as carefully as he can as though he might fall apart if he were to set him down; occasionally he runs one hand through his lover's hair or dips his head ever-so-slightly to give him a gentle rake of his mandible, as if trying to provide them both with intermittent bits of reassurance.

When they do finally make it home, Glacius wastes no time in crossing the den into the bedroom and setting Carlisle down on the side of the thick mattress. "I would bring you to the shower to clean you up, but I really think you should just close your eyes for now. Do not worry about the sheets; they can be replaced. Would you... like my help disrobing at all?"

Though there's ink smeared across nearly every part of the cleric's body in some amount or another, that stain across the middle of his tabard looks awful. "I am not sure if any of this can be salvaged," the alien continues with a sorry frown, knowing how his partner will feel about that, "But I can try, and... it will be more comfortable if you're not trying to rest in sticky, filthy clothing."