"Think after everything we have been through, my cuticle is the least of my worries," he said, sliding his thumb over the pink skin. He didn't intend for it to come out snippy but there was perhaps an edge to his words.

Clarkie exhaled heavily and lifted his hand again to run over his neck. "Thank you -- for getting me out of there." And he meant to and honestly, he couldn't be sure he had thanked Arthur. He was sure he had but he couldn't be one hundred percent positive.

"We'll need to get you something as well," he said, brooking no further argument, looking at him seriously. "Doubt you planned on giving me any." If he had to (or Arthur wanted to), Clarkie would offer some of his own once he knew it would be okay to and that he'd have enough to give.