Glacius is painfully kind, Carlisle notes as his partner reassures him about the sheets; he knows how the clergyman's mind works, what it is he will fixate on and worry about. Unfortunately, his tabard cannot be replaced so easily, as they both realize. His own frown nearly matches Glacius', albeit tempered by his utter exhaustion. Though the alien carried him the whole way home, he still feels completely drained, his limbs absolutely leaden as he raises them to remove his tabard.

"Something clean to sleep in, please," he requests, his fingers failing to undo the clasps. He pulls in another breath, his exhale punctuating his words: "I will no doubt... fret about it later. It can wait until... I awaken."