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“Don’t talk to me unless you’ve got more animal crackers,” Steve mumbled. He swallowed, swallowed again. “Fuck.”
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Steve gestured in the direction of the open drawer. “I see this, Danny. I see all the ways that I’m . . . broken. Useless.”
Danny made a humming sound as he unlaced Steve’s boots and pulled them off carefully. Steve closed his eyes and threw his arm over his face for good measure. The world didn’t spin quite as quickly in the dark. He was vaguely aware of Danny moving around the room, and then felt a cool, damp, washcloth against his cheek.
“That’s not what I see,” Danny said, as he gently worked around Steve’s arm, washing his face, pressing the blessedly cool cloth against his forehead. “I see anti-rejection meds to keep a section of transplanted liver healthy, because you’re the kind of friend that someone would gladly give an organ to. Without thinking twice.”
Steve felt the weight of his gun and badge lifted from his hip, heard them placed quietly on the night-table.
“I see medication that you need because you are the kind of brave, selfless person who risks his life, without hesitation, for the people of this island. For my children. For me. And you need the meds because you were brilliant enough to find a way to protect yourself from at least some of the radiation, so you are alive. You’re sick as fuck right now, but you’re alive, because you’re so scary smart.”