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Mace was tired.
Yes, it was his fault. Yes, Capa was right. Yes, he could have died. No, he hadn't thought it through.
He needed to shut him up.
Mace pushed himself into a sitting position, drawing Capa’s attention, but not his silence.
“Stop that! You're going to tear something open!” Capa warned, shoving another pillow under Mace’s back.
He was close enough to touch. Still talking. Mace wasn't listening.
Mace was leaning in.
Mace was placing a slow kiss to Robert’s forehead.
The Infirmary was silent, except for the steady beep of the monitors Mace was still connected to.