You walked into the medbay, large portions of foam sticking to the walls and counters. The room was so quiet that your ears could ring. Curly laid on his back, unmoving as the light from the projecting screen to represent a sunset shined on his figure—skin burnt to nothing, covered in bandages. It was a sight to behold, and you couldn't help but feel bad for Anya being in here all day. You, along with others on the ship, knew of her weak stomach. She had meekly asked you to give Curly his pills, seeing as she was feeling to sick to do it today. You agreed, so here you are.

You spotted a few bottles of painkillers on the counter next to some hardened foam, some bottles opened or knocked over. Very messy–but who had would be able to clean at a time like this? Curly's one, unlidded bright blue eye followed you as you approached the counter, taking the appropriate amount of pills from one of the orange tinted bottles. You glanced at Curly, staring you down. Though what else could he do?

You walked to his bed, expecting him to open his mouth for the medication. He was hesitant to comply, simply staring at you.

"Come on, Captain. You need to."

You murmured, the two of you knowing what it meant. He would be in a lot more pain than usual without the painkillers, but today the poor captain felt reluctant to feel the pain of swallowing alone. He let out a wheeze, maybe in protest. His jaw trembled, as if he was struggling to decide if he should let this happen or not. He knew he would have to, but stalling, hopefully, wouldn't hurt anyone for now. You sat down on the edge of the bed, holding your cupped hand near his jaw, ready to pour the medicine in whenever he'd allow it. Again, Curly just stared. Unmoving.