Felix sees that hope return to Jim's expression and the shadow over his heart lightens for the first time in months. It was the right thing to say. He's done with the healing so he sits up by Jim and clasps his hand again for a minute.

"It's done," he affirms. "It's over." He wants nothing more than to just sit here, looking at Jim's face and being here to offer comfort. Something in him still won't settle, though. There's a twist in his gut that only tightens as he sits with Jim. A prickle of his nerves that says, You shouldn't be here. It's too close.

"...Let me clear up and get that plate off you," he says finally. "Your shoulders must be sore by now. I'll be right back." Let Stratos worry about cleaning it - or maybe someone else should. Felix thinks of his brother's harrowed expression earlier. That's a problem for the morning. He pushes himself up, clearing away the bloodied wipes and raided first aid kit besides washing his own hands. Stopping to breathe as calmly as he can for the two minutes he's out of Jim's sight.

It's fine. He's under his own control now. He won't lose it. They're both safe here.

It's fine.

Just don't think about it.