"Are you hungry?" you asked your partner, poking your head into the lab. You may not be a Laplace scientist, but that didn't stop you from invading the building frequently to bother Medicine Pocket.

"Mmm.." they grumbled. Their head rested on the desk, arms wrapped around themselves.

Medicine Pocket had one of the biggest personalities of anyone you'd met at the Foundation. They were brilliant, eccentric, and had complete disregard for authority. It was easy to forget that underneath all that spite they were still disabled. WHIM Syndrome wasn't the most debilitating illness out there, but it had its days.

Judging by the shadows under their eyes, Medicine Pocket had pushed themselves to the brink again. You sighed softly and opened the bottom drawer of their desk, pulling out a vial and syringe.

"This is going to sting, sweetheart," you warned. Medicine Pocket mumbled something unintelligeble. You gently took their wrist and inserted the full syringe under one of the IV patches. Once the medication was administered, you started rubbing both of their wrists.