"Yeah, well," Zach turned, trying to keep that faint, irritated hurt from his face and failing utterly. "You do what you fucking have to, alright? I don't know what she told you but..." He faltered, his fingers reaching to his right arm and holding it clenched. The bandage was sweating slightly, plainly visible under the sleeves of his t-shirt, white cotton pasted to his forearm.
"Look. Guess what I'm trying to fucking say..." He cocked his head, then muttered, "You don't have to thank me. If that's what you're bloody trying to do."