Glacius does not mind the apology, though it's not necessary--he's just relieved that Carlisle is alert enough to be responsive. He leans in a little bit closer, starting to help the clergyman with his jacket, then his undershirt--that last layer gets pulled from him very carefully, not wanting the tight-fitting fabric to peel painfully across any wounds. The pants can go later once he's ready to move him to the bed... now that he's bare from the waist up, the ice alien wastes no time in inspecting his body for wounds. Thankfully the shears didn't punch all the way through, though he's afraid what he'll find when he looks to the other side.

"It's just fine," he tries to reassure Carlisle, "You're going to be fine. We'll get you all patched up and taken care of. I just need to gather some medical supplies from the washroom... can you lay down on your front so I can see the wound, in the meantime?"