His first instinct is to demand to know what Jim did that for. To invite their usual bickering and the exasperated jibes they trade when Felix wants to impress on Jim that he cares if the captain gets hurt. But he can't muster that now - and far more importantly, he's stopped cold by one look at Jim's face, the way he shakes even trying to utter the barest of explanations. The thought of even trying to wrangle an elaboration from him goes tumbling by the wayside.

It doesn't matter. What matters is doing his job. Taking care of the man he loves. The man he nearly killed, comes the whispering thought.

He takes a firm grip on Jim's hand, arm in arm with the captain and twining their fingers to help keep his patient from jerking away when he starts to wash what looks like a painful slice. "I'm going to call a light in a second, all right? I just- I have to see this clearly."

It's delicate work. It's painful, for Jim and for Felix who clenches his jaw at every twitch and jerk he causes. He tries not to think about what he's doing in coming here. What's going to happen after. It doesn't matter. Only Jim matters.

Once the wound is clean then he'll go looking for a healing potion in the closet, cursing to himself when he remembers he didn't leave any here. He took them all, even before that last night. Nothing for it. He's going to have to try and heal Jim himself.