Harolin sat on the metal stool and said nothing.
Ruaan was looking at the other side of the infirmary, away from him. The drip was still in his hand and the flush was fading slowly from his cheeks and his breathing had evened out since he woke up. Physically he was improving.
Everything else was a different conversation.
Harolin kept his hands on his knees and looked at Ruaan's profile and thought about the name that had slipped from his mouth. 'Officer Crowe.'
"You should rest," Harolin said.
"I know," Ruaan said. Still at the ceiling.
"Do you want water?"
"I'm fine."
The room was quiet.
Harolin looked at the drip bag. At the small sound of the facility outside. At Ruaan's hand on the bed, the one he had been holding twenty minutes ago, now just lying there like it had always been just lying there.
"Ru," he said.
"I'm tired," Ruaan said.
