Now normally Jim is The Worst patient this side of the galaxy and everyone knows it. Bones has had to wrangle the captain nearly kicking and screaming to get treated even when all other triage has been done. For something like this where he's not gravely wounded Jim should by all accounts be brushing Felix off, talking about a shower, and then waggling his eyebrows at the suggestion of a Private Healing Session. It's irritating and annoying but it's Jim.

Except that's not the case now.

Jim hasn't tried to move off of the couch once. He watches Felix move around the room with wide eyes still scanning the entire room for threats when they can be bothered to leave Felix for even a moment. Vaguely he registers that he was asked a question and Jim points with his good hand to the knife he's dropped carelessly on the coffee table in front of them. It sits as innocently as a blade can next to the faintly flickering statuette of a dragon. It looks to be about as dirty as Jim is by now.

"S...sliced my palm open." The words come slowly, with jarring reluctance. Felix isn't the younger captain. Jim needs to use his words again. Even trying to think of how to expand on his answer makes something inside him shatter dangerously and his trembling worsens. The prospect of having to explain that hell to someone else opens the ground underneath him. The darkness beyond goes on forever.

Jim doesn't even realize he's rocking until Felix is there telling him to hold still.

"I--yeah. Y-yeah okay." All he can do is try.