"You were protecting the man you love, and angry at how Marian was being treated. You can beat yourself up." Tuck smiled just a little when Will leaned close and he nodded, "Of course you can," he said, and he was about to hold out his hand for the mug, when footsteps announced the return of the sheriff. "Fuck," Tuck stowed the tiny cup in his pocket, and moved away, feeling sick to his stomach as he did so.
"Ah, awake then are we?" Malcolm asked, looking smug.
"Fuck off," Tuck hissed at him.
"No. Stand up," he ordered Tuck, who was watching him warily from the floor of the cage.
"Feeling a little dizzy, since you shot me with a tranquiliser," Tuck groaned.
"I didn't ask you how you were feeling, I said stand up. Unless you'd like me to torture your friend there," Malcolm offered, pointing to Will.
Tuck glanced at his boyfriend and frowned. Then, slowly, carefully, he reached out a hand for the bars so he could haul himself up. His stomach rebelled against the movement, but he didn't vomit. It was a close thing. "I'm up," Tuck said, though he was swaying a little.
"Turn around," Malcolm grabbed Tuck's arms and he pulled them back behind him, outside the cage and into the one beside him. Then he handcuffed Tuck's arms, but unlike when Will was stuck like that, Malcolm had handcuffed Tuck above the horizontal support bar. There was now no way for Tuck to sit down. If he fell, it was going to wrench his arms up over his head backwards, dislocating his shoulders. He was facing Will, but Tuck tried to keep the panic he felt inside. He was already woozy, how long did the sheriff expect him to stand here?!