“The hesitation just struck me is all,” Noa responds easily, carefully. “Like I might make an opinion of you being Addie’s doc,” she pauses to give herself a moment to say it right, “just ‘cause you helped her and you helped us, don’t mean anyone is mentally fitting you for a cut.” It’s not always easy to recall these days, but there was a time when she might’ve been standing in his shoes, at odds with the life that the Hounds set for themselves; she came around, but she has no expectations that he might. “It ain’t going to bother me any if you feel like acting squirrelly ‘bout any of this, either.”
But she hadn’t meant to make it a thing, and so she’s as grateful as he is for the interruption and quick succession into talking about the differences in medical care. “I don’t envy you,” she admits. “Could be if you asked we could scavenge some things, or you could take a look around the Hangars if you ask Ruth real nice, maybe.” To be honest, Noa didn’t know what they had stored away in there. “Some of ‘em have a habit of gathering things we ain’t really going to use, like magpies.” They might not have a surgical ward, but it might be possible they have enough to set up a space well enough for a delivery.