Ivar was fully prepared to keep arguing with Adam. But upon seeing had how much pain Ronan in, he turned his attention back to his friend. He was going to have to swallow his selfish pride, as much as that galled him.

"We'll continue this later," he growled to Adam. "Make the call and get someone out here." Then he turned to Ronan as if Adam had just ceased to exist. He wasn't leaving no matter what he was told, even at gunpoint, not until he was sure the man he cared about was going to be alright.

"You sure know how to pick them." There was a definite note of jealousy in his voice, something Ronan likely wouldn't pick up on, but that Adam might. Heedless of the fact he had slash marks up and down his own arms, he examined Ronan with the practiced eye of someone who had survived more than one battle. It wasn't good, Ivar would admit. But he'd also seen men rally their strength and pull through. He prayed silently to the goddess Eir to help save him. He removed his vest, pressing it up against the marks on Ronan's stomach, which appeared to be the worst of his injuries.