(He notices his handkerchief being tucked away but says nothing about it either. Like Koby, he didn't expect this fraught alliance to last in the slightest. Particularly if others from their world showed up. And like Koby, he didn't suspect he would have much reason or interest to stay around for long either. He was the only pirate without a crew and that had always been for good reason.

Solitude had suited him just fine for the last forty or so years of his life.

Protecting someone else was a foreign concept to Mihawk, but taking care of someone even less so. He never even had to take care of wounds of his own since he never got wounded. He watches Koby silently, making no move to help because it simply doesn't occur to him why Koby is even taking his shirt off.

Instead, he merely admires the slope of Koby's neck and the sharp angle of his shoulder blades. He really was a small cadet.)

Whatever you say. (Ah. That's why. His eyes drift to Koby's bloodied shoulder. It's not the worst injury he has seen, but it probably did hurt.

Then he's looking at Koby and gives yet another dramatic sigh.)

Fine. (He moves forward and rests one hand in the center of Koby's back. His palm is warm, fingers long, and it's as if he swallows the entire space whole with ease. He curls his fingers over Koby's uninjured shoulder and gets to work.

There isn't much shrapnel left, but what is left, Mihawk carefully removes with deft fingers. He doesn't tell Koby to brace himself, doesn't warn him. Just methodically removes one sliver of metal after the other. All in all, there isn't much, but enough that there's more blood.)

Give me your uniform. This will need to be wrapped properly. We'll have to try and see if we can find any water. (A beat.) Or preferably alcohol.