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[Okay. He learned from the last time. He doesn't have to apologize. That doesn't mean he's not struggling with the memories of what he did.

Scott's eyes aren't quite red rimmed, but he is far from relaxed. It's obvious he's broadcasting from the infirmary: there still some structural damage around as the Admiral slowly fixes things.]

I'm, um.

[Sorry sorry sorry sorry. He swallows it back, draws in a shaky breath.]

I'm in the infirmary. [He looks around over his shoulder.] Obviously. I know there's not a lot the doctors can do for people who are death tolling. But one of the things I learned at home can help. I can take away pain, when I touch people. So, I'll - I'll be here. I'l be around. Just let me know if you're hurting, and I'll make it better for a while.

[He doesn't mention that he takes the pain on himself. He hopes Stiles and Dean won't say anything, either. It feels like penance, though that's not the only reason he's offering. If he can help people and feel like he's scouring away his guilt, well...then he's going to.]

[Private to Peter]

You were right. I'm definitely thanking you after.

Are you okay?

[Spam for Stiles and Lydia]

[He's been at her bedside in the infirmary since they reappeared back on the Barge, waiting for her to wake up. He knows she will. Knows it deep in his gut, because the Admiral hasn't failed them like this. He won't leave her there, and he won't leave her dead.

There's a whisper of doubt in his thought, and he's doing the best he can to banish it. It leaves his throat and mouth dry, and he doesn't know what to do.

Looking over the bed at Stiles, he draws in breath to say something, anything, but he can't. It wasn't him, but he remembers tearing her throat out, he remembers Stiles' face when it happened, and he has to look down at his hands again.]

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Stiles told me. [And for a second, he's not sure if that's the right thing to say at all, but if Stiles hadn't wanted him to pass it along or had wanted to keep it a secret, he hadn't said anything to that effect. They seem like decent enough friends to not hold that sort of thing against each other, anyway.

He tries to soften his voice into something that's more comforting than anything else, but it still comes out awful bossy. Sorry about that.]

Sitting around here running yourself into the ground isn't going to change what happened.

[Scott exhales: he's not annoyed, he's relieved. He knows exactly how hot her blood was on his fingers, and he doesn't want to relive it.]

I know. I know that. [He looks away, sneaks a glance toward Lydia's bed.] But at least I can do some good while I'm here. It makes me feel better.

[He glances up at Jack. Is that dumb?]

[Someone looking to him for advice or guidance isn't new, but it should still maybe feel weird to just. Accept it. And keep going like it's not a big deal.

Scott's supposed to be the warden here, but Scott's a kid, and Jack's been calling the shots for people for so long, it's not exactly hard to just work with the look instead of spending too much time thinking about it, or about who's supposed to be calling the shots, here.]

If anyone here understands that, it's me. [Even if really, he doesn't think it makes him feel better. Nothing really does.] But I'm reserving the right to say I told you so if you pass out on someone else's bed.

[He might be the warden, but Scott's not big on being in charge. He never asked for it, he just always did what he thought he had to. Even becoming an alpha was about stopping Ms. Blake, not about becoming stronger.

And this kind of relationship needs to be more like a partnership. He can't be the one in charge, he's half Jack's age. There's stuff about the world he just doesn't know yet. And if Scott understands one thing, now, it's how much he doesn't understand.]

If I do, you can say it as much as you want. [He hesitates, and adds,] Can you...can you tell me about, like - what you had to do on the Island? I mean, like this.

[Honestly? He wants to say no. He doesn't want to talk about it, or offer it as an opportunity to talk about the ways he's screwed up, but.

He runs a hand over his hair and lets out a breath before finding a chair to park himself in.]

Anything in particular you want to talk about? Some stuff's got to be in the file.

There's plenty of stuff in the file. But it's just, like - look, I'm not a cop, I'm not in the FBI, I don't want to learn about someone by reading a file.

[He pauses, hops onto an empty bed to sit, and looks maybe a touch sheepish.]

But, uh, I did see the appendicitis thing...

[Go on, Jack. Elaborate.]

[Okay, that gets a soft laugh and maybe a slight eyeroll from Jack, because really, Scott, really. Out of everything?

He's amused, not mad.]

When you've been stuck on an island in the middle of nowhere for a couple months, and you've got a shot of getting off? That's kind of what you wind up focusing on. And since I was the only surgeon on the Island, I kind of didn't feel like I had a lot of options to deal with it.

[Look, that sounds fucking terrifying dude. How do the thing. Scott is pretty sure his emotional fortitude stops at talking someone through surgery on himself.

(Says the kid who had a sword in his stomach.)]

How'd you do it, though? I mean - couldn't you have told them what to do, then taking something to put you out?

[Yeah, calm down Scoot, you could do it if you had to. Hopefully. Since the alternatives kind of suck.]

I trust Bernard and Juliet, but it's not a procedure either of them had ever done before. If something went wrong, I definitely would have died. We didn't exactly have enough antibiotics to stop any infection a ruptured appendix would have caused. I didn't feel like we had a choice.

[We, not I. His life is only really important in the context of their society, and without him, they would have been lost.]

[How about no one ever gets in that situation ever again, how about that instead.]

Jeeeez. [He shakes his head, because even though he gets why Jack's an inmate, he's impressed by the things he did to keep himself and others alive. It's not like he has impressive werewolf healing, either.]

You might be like, the bravest person I know. Did anything go wrong?

[Jack shrugs and flashes a smile.]

I'm still here, aren't I? [It's not like that's what killed him.]

That doesn't mean a hurricane didn't pop up or something.

[He shrugs, shaking his head. He's still wondering a little, still incredibly impressed by Jack. But there's more, too, plenty that he read and didn't particularly like.]

I just don't get it. You did some amazing things for those people.

I did what had to get done.

[But he knows it's true. He's sacrificed a lot to help them, and he'd found a lot of self worth in being someone people relied on. Maybe he even got a little addicted to it.

Which doesn't stop him from at least pretending it's not a big deal. Honestly, he's not even consciously aware of how deep all that goes, sometimes.]

You don't have to downplay it. [He hesitates, feeling like he's walking out onto less than solid ice.]

It's probably okay that you liked it, too.

Probably?

[The eyebrows, they are raised a bit. Where are you going with this, Scott.]

[Scott shrugs. His plans suck.]

Being someone people rely on - it's scary, but. But it's kind of awesome, too. Being needed like that.

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