"I know," he replies; contemplating the pale, still figure of their captain with a distant look in his eyes, mouth pressed into a thin line. "Don' know why I came t'be honest. Doc said there'd been no change." He shakes his head. "'Spose I just wanted to..." He's not sure how that sentence was meant to end. Whether he's here out of hope or guilt or duty or a mix thereof.

He groans quietly and pinches the bridge of his nose. "I was so bloody angry at him," he says abruptly, the admission he's been steadfastly repressing all week spilling out. He doesn't want to have been. He doesn't want to still be, and the fact that he can't help it only makes it worse. "An' then--" Damn the man and his total lack of anything even vaguely resembling a self-preservation instinct.

The bruise is still visible along his cheekbone, all faded shades of green and yellow where Kirk had decked him. He was never annoyed about that; it was a reasonable call under the circumstances. Unfortunately the well-buried hurt he can't quite get over is of a more insidious and intangible nature. And christ but he's furious at himself for not being able to just get over it. It seems so petty now.