The fact that the other can speak now without coughing up half a desert’s worth of grit and sand speaks volumes for how far he’s come since first arriving on board — but the dirt clearing itself from the young man’s lungs isn’t enough for McCoy to declare him fit — he’s not exactly healthy and whole, after all. There’s still very much the matter of those strange burns that speak of him having been right at the heart of something that should have killed him, and yet — here he stands.
Having resisted questions regarding the matter up to this point, McCoy doesn’t press the issue any further at the moment, though it still weighs on his mind. There’s going to come a time, very soon, when he won’t be able to put it off any longer and people will begin to demand answers. They aren’t in the habit of just taking people in and whisking them away from all of their troubles — particularly when those troubles might follow them and endanger the lives of people trying to help.
That being said, they’re not exactly in the habit of abandoning people, either.
”If you give them half as much lip as you give me, you might as well be fightin’ ‘em. Just mind your manners. And quit scratchin’, or I’m going to get you a cone of shame.”
Cassius looks down at his hand against his wrist and slowly curls his fingers into his palm. It's always subconscious, even if he knows the itch is there. Some part of him, the part that's still a scared kid covered dust and his brother's infested blood--- some part whispers darkly in his ear that it'll never go away. That the itch will flourish until he's forced to strip himself of his skin--- or die.
” Sorry, doc. ”
He hasn't told McCoy about Jesse. Hasn't told anybody, actually. No one knows about that last month before he arrived here. They don't know about the way he had to turn Jesse's mouth a w a y as he spat substance-less vomit into the dirt, as he drowned in his own fluids and gasped for breath. If he's to be honest with himself, he's not sure he wants them to know. They'll treat him differently. He's had time to get over it and no one seems to understand that. He's not grieving anymore, but that doesn't change the fact that he lost a large part of himself. Sometimes, though, sitting in the medbay, he'll just--- be quiet for a while. Lost in mindless thoughts. Something, anything that gets him out of his predicament.
Cassius rubs a hand along his stubble-coated jaw and nods at the doctor.
” Let's go. I'm starving. ”
