His injury being brought up surprises Sinclair more than Lee refusing to go home. A lot of people are hanging around like listless soldiers, waiting for something else to happen, almost wishing for it. Not many are asking him how he’s doing.
“I’m getting used to it,” he jokes, looking away for a moment, then back, then away again. His impassive expression relaxes, and he lets himself rub gingerly at his knee. This isn’t something he should be thinking about either.
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Michael is holding Lee’s hand firmly, still carefully rubbing her back. When Lee shakes her head no in reply to Sinclair’s question, his stomach starts rolling with worry again. He waits for some kind of further explanation, but none comes. She and this stranger just start making small talk.
“You’re not… Why? Lee, you’re sick. Where are you gonna stay? What…” He doesn’t understand.