Salmon. That was the colour that accompanied the moment of stillness and steady support of an arm, that was not his own, wrapped securely about his middle. That certainly hadn't been what he was anticipating – the sudden warmth of another, a hand applying pressure to the cut along his side. His own limbs beginning to feel rather heavy, he allowed himself to lean into Dr. Coupe for support - not because he wanted any contact with the barbarian, surely. He supposed he really ought to be sorry for waking the man up at this hour, not to mention bleeding all over him, at least he should give the appearance of being apologetic...but that groan. The curator bit down on his lower lip to stop the snicker of amusement from escaping him. Served him right, really, making Cameron move all of the antiquities into storage. He had only just finished the third viewing room an hour ago...Was it an hour? He couldn't be sure through the hazy fog of injury and colour shows every sensation produced.
A weak huff escaped him at the mild threat, he doubted that the other “patients” so-called would be awoken by his speaking. The urge to yell out of spite was suppressed, not without some effort on his part, but in the end he found he really couldn't be bothered to cause a scene in the clinic. Not that he couldn't afford it – well, perhaps this was true as well, though certainly not as strong a motivator as the fatigue tugging at his consciousness, or the chill battering his senses. Wake his patients, what a load of bosh – he refrained from saying so in any case. The red-head reminded himself that this was not because he didn't feel like being insulting to the other, as though some part of him – that tired part – had suggested it, simply that it took too much effort to argue. Perhaps, though he was not willing to fully admit, especially when the other was sounding so amused.
He felt himself stilling, but for his shivers, at the gentle voice, nodding slowly as the other pulled a blanket around him. There was something familiar in that voice, not the growing familiarity of a voice one's mind is still becoming accustomed to, but rather that foggy, niggling of a memory long pushed to the corners of the mind. Something known there, in those features which shifted in and out of focus, obscured by the patches of green and black that continued to cloud his vision. Features that had been grown into...Something...Everything snapped sharply back into place at the appearance of a knife . He felt his body go rigid, muscles clenching painfully around his wound at the sight of the blade - no, no – scissors. This information registered on a purely visual level, unable to move beyond that sick, sudden knot of panic twisting his insides. One heartbeat, two. A breath rattled through his lungs as he forced the air past his lips, and then again...and again...until that instinctual fear had dissipated. He hadn't even time to feel affronted over the ruination of his sweater – if he was being honest, he supposed it really wasn't his favourite, and of course, his attacker had ruined it first...
Cameron managed a wan smile at the doctor, ”Apologies, not having the best luck with sharp objects tonight. This jumper and I are just a few wounds away from being Gaius Julius....it is the Ides today isn't it?” His nose crinkled in genuine amusement, trying to hold back the grin tugging at the corners of his mouth as he let his mind move sluggishly back to their earlier conversation, “Letters to Atticus, pfft. If we're going to give Old Tully a chance to show off, we might as well use the Philippics. “ The veterinarian let himself lay back more fully, shutting his eyes to the spinning world momentarily, and pushing aside the blood soaked fabric that clung, fluids half coagulated, to the gash opening his side. Now fully exposed to the chill in the air, freckled skin began to goosebump anew, and his shivers increased. Why did it have to be so bloody cold in here? He pressed a cold hand against his wound, stopping the warm blood escaping between his fingers. It registered somewhere that he oughtn't obstruct the doctor's view, but he imagined the good doctor really wouldn't appreciate blood seeping into the sheets anymore than he had appreciated it staining his shirt. Shirt be damned, it was an awful looking thing anyways, wasn't even blue. A sigh left him, blue...now...there was something about those blue eyes he couldn't quite place. Or maybe that was just his mind playing tricks on him, letting him see something familiar to trust in. Something he read somewhere, likely.