He skull felt like it was throbbing, the cut was healed, but it didn't change the fact that he'd hit his head. He only hoped he didn't have a concussion. When Verity came back with the towel, Montague almost weakly held his hand up to wipe it off himself; only slightly surprised when she began to do it herself.
His eyes stayed focused straight ahead, and his vision was rather smarmy when she pressed a little harder, but he didn't say anything, he could tell she felt guilty and he felt a bit guilty himself, pushing her so far as to force uncontrolled magic out of her.
When she walked away, he sighed, and ran his fingers over the place the cut had once been, hair and skin still slightly wet from the cloth. Soft, tired brown eyes followed her when she came back in, stood in front of him. Looking up at her, his head swam with pain for a split second as he focused on her face, and a hand softly moved to touch her waist.
"I'll be fine... but I don't think I should sleep for a bit, just in case." He didn't say anymore because he didn't want her to feel worse, but he knew he couldn't tempt fate by falling asleep.
There was silence for a moment, before he let his fingers lightly caress her side, eyes looking up at her softly. "Ver...I-" he stopped for a moment collecting his thoughts, "I just want to keep you safe. You and Marlowe safe. I don't want to control you, lie to you, or keep anything from you... but sometimes- I'll just half too. Just-" his hand moved to run down her arm, grasping her own hand lifting it to his lips, "trust me if I do. Trust me to know what I'm talking about."