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"'Something like that. I'm stuck in bed, though, at least in my own room. Where are you?'" he read out in a tone unworthy of Abbi's aura. Around that time, his own phone started going off, and as Chel attended to her messages, Jack checked his with a slight frown. Who would want to contact...

Finn. And the preview text already blared like a warning sign.

Mouth pressed in a thin line, he lifted the goggles to his forehead and began to read and reply himself as they walked.

Her voice seemed to come out of the steam from some ethereal source, head bent under the shower head once she had finished, eyes closed as the water rushed past. Jack didn't remember how long their shower had taken so far; time seemed as irrelevant out of that cot as it had in it, a blurry list of have dones over will dos in small mechanical steps. Walk, breathe, rise, touch, discard, close, soap, water, shampoo, touch, switch, breathe.

He straightened and pushed the bangs from his eyes as he took a breath and replied, "Yeah." He doubted he could handle much more that day anyway; Finn had sent him more messages while Chel had roved around the tents. Even being physically clean could only improve so much after that, after everything.

Somehow he left the shower more exhausted than before. Jack was less thorough than usual in toweling himself off before he threw on some clothes—not for the courtesy of it but because he didn't want to keep looking at the blue scar. It had been enough to be forced to look at Chel's crystal throughout the shower.

"Any popcorn left?" he asked, trying to remember when was the last time either of them had shopped. "Crackers or some s**t? Can't do much else right now."

On any other day Jack might have felt some sort of alarm at the idea, but he was silently in agreement: it had to go, if only because it would always cause them a disturbance, spilled popcorn to unwanted and constant reminders of their decisions to survive. So he merely did as he was bid, searching the drawer for where Chel had moved her first aid kit (again), cleaned the area up around her bed after his successful find, and popped a few in his mouth, waiting for Chel to return.

He'd had no discomfort being around her thus far; there was no reason to assume helping her could make things worse, aside from Owain's subtle disapproval.

< How many more times are you going to mark this ghoul? >

"I could try to sneak out an anesthetic," he offered for the sake of offering even though he already knew the answer. (I'm sorry I did this to you.)

Jack paused, mouth partially open as he considered his options, and then got up from the bed, kit in hand.

"Yes." Movement of any sort would be the issue, and while he knew Chel could handle quite a lot of pain, this was a delicate area the crystal had embedded in, and even a flinch would make things more difficult. He also had no idea how deep the crystal was at this stage, or if trying to remove it would trigger something.

"Depends. Most likely easy." On one hand, they might be too busy to notice, or they simply might not care. Jack had cultivated a good enough reputation in the infirmary to not be asked questions when resources were involved. On the other hand, they might have made an inventory already and be loathe to give out something to someone not in the tents.

"I'm fine," he said as he reached the couch, though he didn't take a seat just yet. Fine as usual was subjective, but he looked better than when he had sat on the floor of the old home with her. More alert at least. "Pain pills won't cut it, though. I'd be giving you local anesthesia, so you wouldn't need an IV, but it wouldn't knock you out."

There was no mistaking the hangdog drag to his eyes. On this, blame would always be a cold war between them, fought in little moments of conditionals and silent looks. "If I wanted a d**k on your face, I'd just have sex with you," Jack said, the wry words at odds with that expression. Leaning down, he touched her shoulder (I'll be right back), added "Don't eat all the popcorn," and left.

He returned a short time later with more appropriate tools (stitches, needle, anesthetic, alcohol, bandages, medical tape), a red jello cup and plastic fork, a water bottle, and a small cup of crap coffee that was already half gone by the time he came back. Only offering small instructions to her--lay down on this towel, tell me or squeeze my arm if you feel anything--Jack began the careful process of removing the crystal. Regardless of how draining the day had been, a shot of coffee and the determination to do this right kept his hands steady and his concentration unwavering.

Only afterwards, when the last of the bandages was in place and the last trace of blood had been cleaned off, did Jack seem to breathe. He cleaned his hands with more alcohol and wiped the instruments clean before handing Chel the jello cup. "Couldn't find a juice box."

"What?" he prompted as he placed the crystal away next to the kit, gleaming as if it hadn't been stuck inside her at all.

Jack gave her a look that lasted maybe three seconds before he suddenly started to laugh himself. Not particularly loudly, but genuinely. It was the anesthetic talking, but it didn't make it less true.

"You're right," he said. Slipping her hand off his shoulder, Jack raised it to his lips in a more appropriate, more dramatic gesture. "I should have been more sensitive to your emotional needs as well as your physical ones."

"What a big baby. It was just one shot," he scoffed.

Helping Chel up more steadily, Jack leaned down and then proceeded to scoop her up, in true and continued dramatic fashion, bridal style. Passing by the trashcan so she had a chance to toss the jello cup, he then deposited her on the bed.

"No discomfort, though?" he asked. "The anesthetic should wear off within the hour."