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Riley didn't want this. She didn't want this to happen, and every muscle in her body ached to shove Christof out of the way and throw herself on Malodore, to keep it from the pain she knew it had to bear. There was instinct at work here, that she had to war with to keep herself at bay. She felt her anger soaring to new heights, and she closed her eyes, keeping her head resting against Malodore's and rocking gently.

She had to be strong. She had to be as strong as Malodore. It was so much stronger than her.

She heard Christof's voice, and her body sprang into action, curling her hands around the wing on her side and straightening it out before holding it up to Malodore's back. And there it was, the cut flesh, waiting for her to-

Her hands shook, just once, before stilling. She did this for Malodore, because it deserved it. It deserved to soar.

The wing was jammed carefully into it's waiting spot, and she held it there with a steady hand.

Fumbling with his limbs, Christof juggled the scalpel to pass the wing into his stronger hand, drawing in a sharp breath before following suit, shoulder to shoulder with Riley now as they pressed the appendages into place, his own little wing fluttering freely and anxiously in sympathy to the screams.

It... It is done, Master... even his mental voice was breathless.

Riley really wanted to look away. She suddenly regretted everything about herself - why was she such a useless creature? If only she was a healer, like Malodore.. if only she could give it every ounce of her FEAR, and have it help somehow. Useless, useless creature..

She reached out and wrapped her other hand around the wing Christof held, securing them both in her arms while she nudged her head at the igor. Do it. I will keep hold. She whispered fiercely.

If there was nothing else, she could do this. She would hold Malodore's wings up until her own arms fell off in exhaustion, if she had to. Even after Christof had stitched them closed, and set all the bandages and slings into place, Riley would probably stay behind her plague doctor and hold it up until it no longer needed her.

And that was kind of a sad thought.

Beneath the muscles and bandages, the bloodmetal was still growing in, fusing with bone and re-awakening atrophied muscles, sending out more and more tendrils to integrate itself into place. The bandages shifted slightly, as if something were crawling under the flesh.

The pain was still incredible, searing - but it was no longer fresh, no longer increasing. The threshold had been hit. Malodore sagged, going limp with sudden exhaustion. The implantation was complete, it thought, but the wings were so new, like freshly planted saplings in damp earth. Too much shifting and they might just tear out again.

... It wasn't sure what to do now. Lay here, it supposed, and heal. It really should have prepared itself a bed or something. It couldn't even assemble its thoughts into a coherent structure, but... well, Riley was there. She could sense its relief, its pain, and its concerns.

Christof worked silently, as quickly and efficiently as he could, but all the while he couldn't help but stare in fascination as the flesh and metal reacted and twisted and changed and moved. He could move his Parts when they were disconnected, but he couldn't make them *grow*... He would have to ask Malodore later when it wasn't so preoccupied by the Task at Hand.

The final bandage tucked away, and Riley left supporting the sore appendages, Christof stepped back, using his scarf as a towel to wipe the blood that soaked all three hands. He didn't quite understand the importance and symbolism of what they had just accomplished, but he fully comprehended the severity on a different level.

Even without the ability to Fearfully empathize, he understood. How many weeks had he laid on that table, under his True Master's knife, only a short while ago? He wasn't sure what it was like to Malodore, but Pain was an odd thing to the Patchwork. It was finicky, at least, and chose it's moments to spike up like electricity in the brain. All he wanted to do when he was done was sleep, but there had been complications and Chores and trying to make sure Master Barth and Calder were not reduced to Spare Parts.

Hands mostly clean, or at least dried if stained, he picked up his jacket and meekly folded it before limping quietly around the table to tuck it under the Plague Doctor's head and neck for a bit of warm comfort at least.

The pain will fade, Master. But I believe your Upgrade was a success. The corners of his mouth twitched up in a nervous smile, May I fetch you anything? His eyes darted to Riley- she at least seemed marginally more coherent than the poor creature on the slab.

Riley's eyes opened in surprise, suddenly cut off from the pain she was open to feeling - because Malodore had just lost consciousness, severing the connection. Oops.

Well at least it didn't have to suffer, anymore.

She moved to sit on the edge of the slab, eyeing the wings she held carefully. She knew her body was shaking, just slightly.. holding them might not be in Malodore's best interest, after all.

Christof, prepare the slings, while Malodore is unconscious. At least now it will not have to feel us settling them into place.

Riley's eyes remained on the wings, even as Christof tried to comfort her. When he leaned into her, she rested her weight against him, but it was with some reluctance that she finally let her fingers release the wings, gently, carefully. She dropped her hands once the slings were in place, and continued to stare.

A moment later, her hands were up, covering her face, and she shook visibly. There was no sound, mental or otherwise, coming from her. Christof didn't need to see her cry.