“Sir, do you want me to…” Emery began. Adequin stood and waved it off.
“I can do it.” She took the pack from the oculus. “Thank you.”
“No problem, sir. Anything else?”
“Not now.”
Emery left, the din of chatter filtering through from the other room briefly before being hushed as the door sealed again. Adequin sat on the floor beside Cavalon. She tore open the package and took out one of the saline cartridges. All Titans had at least some combat medic training, and though she hadn’t had cause to treat anyone in over five years, it’d be pretty hard to kill someone with saline. Though, at the moment, he looked like he might find death preferable.
Cavalon let out a soft groan and slid partway down the wall, resting with one shoulder jammed into the corner, neck craned upward.
“That doesn’t look comfortable.” She turned on the biotool’s interface and set it to disinfect.
“You don’t have to do this, sir,” he said. “You’ve got subordinates out there. You should shunt this to one of them.” He hacked into the towel a few more times. “Or just leave me to die. That’d be fine.”
“I’d rather deal with this than sit in the cockpit, waiting. I feel better when I’m doing something.”
His mouth turned up into a decidedly weak, pathetic grin. “Like me.”
She gave a small smile back. “Yeah.”
His eyes drifted closed. She took his arm, his skin clammy but warm.
“Sorry, my hands are cold,” she said, pushing the sleeve of his uniform up above the elbow. He only grunted in response.
She swiped the biotool across the inside of his elbow until the interface glowed green, indicating the skin had been disinfected. She loaded the saline cartridge into the side of the tool.
Cavalon’s gold and bronze Imprint squares glinted and sprung to life, quickly laying themselves across the inside of his elbow.
“Cav…”
“Sorry.” He let out a wheezing sigh. “They’re just trying to protect me. I don’t like shots.”
She tried not to laugh, but a sympathetic chuckle came out anyway. He slid the rest of the way down the wall to lie fully on the floor. He draped the towel over his face.
“Void, you’re a mess,” she said.
He groaned.
She waited, rubbing her hands together to warm them up. Finally his Imprints receded, falling back into their standard formation.
She repeated the disinfection process, then switched the biotool into injection mode and pressed it against the crease of his elbow. The tool hissed as it let out the solution. The muscles in his arm twitched, but otherwise he didn’t react. Moments later, his skin flushed with color.
“Damn, that works fast.” He tilted his head up and pulled the towel from his face, then flopped back down. “Still feel like I’m going to hurl, though.”
“This’ll only help hydrate you. We don’t have anything for the nausea aboard.”
“Cerenozine.”
She nodded. “We’ll get you some when we get to Kharon Gate.”
His brow furrowed. “We’re headed to Kharon Gate?”
“Yes.”
“But—” He hiccuped. “But Drudgers.”
She sighed. “Yeah, I know. We’ll take care of it.”
“You will,” he mumbled. She quirked an eyebrow, surprised that his tone lacked all traces of sarcastic incredulity. He sounded like he had every confidence in her statement.