Obviously, Alec knew V would bleed the second he drew the blade across his palm, and after a few minutes of his completely futile struggling with the door (by the end of which the metal frame is starting to warp a little where he has it wedged into the crack between the door and the wall for leverage instead of the other way around) he's in a bad enough mood not to try and stop V's little demonstration. Not that he was in a great mood before obviously, but now he's sweating.
Except, maybe he sorta did expect V not to bleed after all that confident posturing? Because the red spills out and it sends a jolt of shock through Alec, his expression of annoyance shifting quickly into alarm before he can clamp down on his own reactions. Not that V is paying attention or anything. He drops his makeshift crowbar and grabs for the knife to yank it out of V's other hand because he obviously can't be trusted with it, and V— just lets him? That's somehow equally worrying. "What the hell is wrong with you?" he snaps, annoyed but (against his will) growing increasingly concerned as V neither answers nor moves at all. He is definitely having a crisis of some kind, but as to what's causing it, Alec couldn't say. Cuts lead to bleeding? Everyone has blood vessels in their hands, if they've—you know—got hands? What's not clicking? He stares at V staring at his palm for a few seconds too long and decides that obviously he's going to have to be the one to fix this.
"Do not move," he commands, pointing an accusatory finger in V's general direction like V has listened to a single thing he's said so far, and makes a beeline back across the room to the bathroom cabinet. If there's a first aid kit anywhere in the room, surely it'll be in there? But of course, it's not. There's just a few little complementary soaps and shampoos. Alec hurriedly washes his own hands in the sink to get off all the dust and grime from pulling the bed frame apart, planning to shred one of the sheets so they can wrap that giant, nasty cut and stop the active bleeding, but by the time he turns around V... has his bloody palm pressed against the door. "Damn it, seriously?" V had a point earlier, about it being better to fight through whatever's on the other side of the door than just rot in here, but still. Alec is back at his side immediately, gripping his wrist and then using it yank V around and shove the man bodily behind himself while he's still too out of it to protest (and while Alec still has his knife.) Maybe they haven't gotten along so far, but that doesn't make it any less Alec's job to stand between other people and danger.
Danger is a strong word for what's happening here, of course, considering a big fat load of nothing appears to have changed. That's a minor detail. After a moment of hesitation, Alec adjusts his grip on V's knife to a less defensive one, and lets go of his wrist so he can twist open the knob for the door. It gives with absolutely no resistance, clearly mocking him, and the walkway beyond is completely (almost comically) empty.
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Except, maybe he sorta did expect V not to bleed after all that confident posturing? Because the red spills out and it sends a jolt of shock through Alec, his expression of annoyance shifting quickly into alarm before he can clamp down on his own reactions. Not that V is paying attention or anything. He drops his makeshift crowbar and grabs for the knife to yank it out of V's other hand because he obviously can't be trusted with it, and V— just lets him? That's somehow equally worrying. "What the hell is wrong with you?" he snaps, annoyed but (against his will) growing increasingly concerned as V neither answers nor moves at all. He is definitely having a crisis of some kind, but as to what's causing it, Alec couldn't say. Cuts lead to bleeding? Everyone has blood vessels in their hands, if they've—you know—got hands? What's not clicking? He stares at V staring at his palm for a few seconds too long and decides that obviously he's going to have to be the one to fix this.
"Do not move," he commands, pointing an accusatory finger in V's general direction like V has listened to a single thing he's said so far, and makes a beeline back across the room to the bathroom cabinet. If there's a first aid kit anywhere in the room, surely it'll be in there? But of course, it's not. There's just a few little complementary soaps and shampoos. Alec hurriedly washes his own hands in the sink to get off all the dust and grime from pulling the bed frame apart, planning to shred one of the sheets so they can wrap that giant, nasty cut and stop the active bleeding, but by the time he turns around V... has his bloody palm pressed against the door. "Damn it, seriously?" V had a point earlier, about it being better to fight through whatever's on the other side of the door than just rot in here, but still. Alec is back at his side immediately, gripping his wrist and then using it yank V around and shove the man bodily behind himself while he's still too out of it to protest (and while Alec still has his knife.) Maybe they haven't gotten along so far, but that doesn't make it any less Alec's job to stand between other people and danger.
Danger is a strong word for what's happening here, of course, considering a big fat load of nothing appears to have changed. That's a minor detail. After a moment of hesitation, Alec adjusts his grip on V's knife to a less defensive one, and lets go of his wrist so he can twist open the knob for the door. It gives with absolutely no resistance, clearly mocking him, and the walkway beyond is completely (almost comically) empty.
Cool. Cool, cool, cool. Hey, quick question though: "What the fuck?"