"I'm going to kill you," Stephen said. "Honest to God, I'm going to rip your daft little head off."

At least Connor had the good sense to look guilty…or maybe sheepish would've been a better word for it, because guilty people didn't really chuckle like Connor did. It didn't help that the way he bobbed his shoulders only served to highlight the swelling that had taken over the majority of his right shoulder, and there were the beginnings of color that Stephen knew were going to make for a fine bruise in a couple hours.

"It's not as bad as it looks. At least, I don't think. I hardly feel it," Connor said. Stephen couldn't tell if he was more helpful or apologetic, and though the thought did count for something, it wasn't going to get him off the hook.

"You're lucky it's not dislocated."

"It's not as bad as all that," Connor said. "Really it's not. Just a…little…swollen…" He trailed off as he glanced over at his shoulder and apparently realized that, at least looking at it, it was as bad as all that.

Stephen paused in his pacing to raise a very pointed eyebrow.

"Sorry." It was the seventh time Connor had apologized in the past few minutes. Four apologies ago, it had been when Stephen had made him take his shirt off and seen the bruises he hadn't known were there. Three ago, it had been when he tried to ramble out an apology. Two ago had been for accidentally stepping on Stephen's raptor foot when he swung his legs over the side of the couch so that Stephen could get a better look at his shoulder.

"I don't want an apology," Stephen said, running a hand through his hair irately. "What I want is—" He stopped pacing, turning on Connor. "I want to know why you didn't tell me! Why the bloody hell did you lie? It could've been worse and you would've been none the wiser; are you trying to get yourself killed?"

"I dunno," Connor said. His eyes were fixed on the ground between his feet, his thin shoulders slumped like he was trying to draw in on himself.

But Stephen was too hot around the collar to stop. "Bullocks, Connor! You had a reason, so tell me! Why would you be stupid enough to walk around with a concussion and a busted-to-hell shoulder? And why the hell wouldn't you tell m—"

"Why the hell would I?"

It caught Stephen off guard, hearing Connor snap like that. He never snapped, never shouted.

Using Stephen's shocked silence to his own advantage, Connor kept on, only a little quieter, and he couldn't seem to bring himself to look Stephen in the eye. The burst of temper had receded and left him shy and uncomfortable. "You lot already think I'm an idiot. Sliding in and hitting my head 'cause I let a raptor get the jump on me, I didn't exactly prove you wrong. Bad enough to be an idiot; I didn't want to be a bother, too. Just thought I took a knock to me head."

The admittance had softened Stephen's temper a little bit. Connor hadn't been hiding it from him, then. He hadn't been lying for the sake of lying. He'd been embarrassed, which though still silly by Stephen's standards, was a little more pitiful and a little less irritating.

There was still something giving him pause, though. "It got worse. Running around like we were, you'd have noticed your head pounding and your ears ringing like Big-bloody-Ben. Not to mention your shoulder. Adrenaline only goes so far."

Connor didn't respond immediately, worrying his lip and fidgeting with his gloves. Stephen noticed his hand was still bleeding a little bit and frowned. Reaching into his back pocket for his kerchief, he squatted down in front of Connor and took his bad hand in his own. Connor still didn't say a word as Stephen carefully slipped his glove off his slender hand and replaced it with the pristinely white handkerchief.

It wasn't until Stephen was tying the last knot on the makeshift bandage that Connor seemed to get his voice back. "I didn't want to say anything," he said, his eyes fixed pointedly on Stephen's hands around his own. "Cutter had enough on his plate with that Claudia business, and then we were down a pair of hands after Abby…I'd already made enough of a mess of things without giving you something else to worry about."

Stephen paused to let the words sink in as he finished tying the last knot over Connor's hands. The bleeding wasn't too bad; the cuts wouldn't take stitches. But he always thought better when he had something to do with his hands.

"And after?" he said finally, sitting back on his heels.

"You got bitten by a velociraptor and almost trapped in an anomaly. A goose egg didn't really seem like a big deal after that."

"Maybe next time let me be the judge of that, yeah?" Stephen said, but the issue was already resolved. Stephen couldn't be mad at Connor for not telling him, because it hadn't been a conscious choice to shut him out. He hadn't said anything because he'd been embarrassed and flustered and trying to help. Stephen could hardly fault him for that.

Especially when, for the first time since he'd wandered in, he managed to get a real smile out of the man. It wasn't a big one, but it reached his eyes and that was enough. "Yeah," Connor said. "I'll do that."

Stephen gave a small smile in return and stood. An office was no place to feel crummy, and Stephen's next order of business was to get his boyfriend back to his apartment - not Abby's, because Connor was his and it was his place to look after him.

First things first, though, he had to get him a shirt back on. Walking through the office bare-chested was probably going to be frowned upon, after all. The trick was getting him back in something without him having to move that shoulder too much. It had been enough of a trick getting it off him the first time, what with how he couldn't get his arm up more than ninety degrees. A waistcoat only was bound to look odd, too.

Glancing down at his own chest, he realized he was wearing his sports jacket. It'd be an easy enough way to get something on him without hurting his shoulder too much.

Mind made up, he unzipped the coat and pulled it around his boyfriend. "Arm in," he said.

Connor looked at him confusedly.

"You're not getting back into that t-shirt of yours. Just humour me, yeah? Arm in." Mercifully, this time Connor went with it, gingerly easing his arm up and into the sleeve. Carefully as he could, Stephen pulled it up over onto his shoulder. The other arm went easier, and Stephen was able to pull the zipper up to Connor's collarbone. "There you go. Now, up." Stephen offered Connor a hand and pulled him up onto his feet.

Connor'd no sooner made it vertical than he started to pitch forward. Stephen caught him about the waist and held him up even as Connor tried to sit back down.

"No, no, no," Connor said through gritted teeth. He wanted to get back to the couch.

Stephen wasn't letting him, though. "Yes, yes, yes," he said. "You're alright, mate. I've got you. Just take a second to get your bearings."

Connor just groaned, burying his face in Stephen's shoulder. "Make the world stop spinning."

"Nothing's spinning, mate. It just feels that way," he said, and then he started to move Connor around a bit. At Connor's whine of protest, he smiled sympathetically. "The quicker we get moving, the quicker we get back to mine and the quicker you get to have a lie down."

Eventually, Stephen managed to get Connor around to his side, his good arm pulled around his shoulders. As he started walking him towards the door, he kept a hand around his hips, both to steady him and to help steer him since he didn't seem to partial on opening his eyes.

The arrangement earned them a fair number of odd looks from people they passed in the office, but they actually made it all the way out to the car park before they got stopped. Cutter was on his way back in from a coffee run it looked like, judging by the foam cups in his hand, and as Stephen was helping Connor into the passenger seat, he walked over.

"Everything alright?" he said. His eyes flicked to Connor in the passenger seat, his head bowed into his hands like he was trying to hold it on his shoulders. "Connor?"

"He's hurt his head," Stephen said as he stepped back a bit to make room for Cutter. The professor came to stand next to him in front of the open car door, trying to get a look at the miserable passenger. "I'm taking him home."

Cutter nodded, bracing his hand on the roof of the car and glancing in at the miserable passenger before turning back to Stephen. "What happened?"

"Brain freeze."

Cutter raised a curious eyebrow.

"In the mall," Stephen said. "When he pulled an Indy Jones and said he'd gotten himself brain freeze, he'd actually managed to crack his bloody skull on the floor. Did a number on his shoulder, too."

"Sure he doesn't need the hospital?"

Stephen shrugged. "Far as I can tell, it's not more than a concussion and a sprain. I figured I'd take him home, keep an eye on him."

From inside the car, Connor raised a hand. "I like the second," he said, but then retreated back into his pseudo-foetal position. Stephen recognized the expression on his face; the pain was flaring up again.

"Right, well, I'm gonna get him home. Sorry, Connor, this'll be loud." He shut the door, wincing in sympathy as the sound echoed in the car park. He went around to the driver side, only to pause for a moment. "Oi, Cutter."

The professor stopped short from where he'd been heading on his way again, turning. "Yeah?"

"Probably won't be in tomorrow, if you could tell Lester."

"Why don't you tell him yourself?"

Stephen shrugged innocently. "I've got my hands full."

Judging from the look, Cutter didn't quite buy it. All the same, though, he rolled his eyes and smiled. "What the hell, I'll let him know. You get him look after."

With a grateful smile, Stephen nodded. "Can do," he said and climbed into the car.