[ He shuts down Tim’s fretting with ease. He has a way of making everything seem easy, Tim’s already gathered, whether that’s debasing himself publicly or accepting his help in what should be the most awkward possible context in which he could ever need it. Quentin explains it away as if it’s as natural as the wind, letting him get swept away on it. This is fine. Maybe it’s even good, to have something to distract him from worrying, praying, and tears for a few minutes.

Tim gives him a tight smile and takes the plate, taking another sausage from it once he’s sitting down in one of the waiting chairs next to the door to Hawk’s room. ]

They think he’s past the worst of it. He was conscious and awake for a little while, but they have him on a lot of medication for the pain, so he’s out again. He’ll be okay, as long as there’s no infection and he keeps resting. It’s just... [ a pause, to calm down. To chew. ] I should have been there. We had an argument about something stupid, so I ran off, and...

[ Hawk almost got eaten over it. Thinking too much about it is making him lose his appetite, but he knows, logically, that he does need to eat. He nibbles at the end of a boiled egg with no enthusiasm whatsoever. ]

Tell me about being sailor.

[ Distract him. ]