"It seems likely. You've been without food for a while, now." A momentary flicker of concern passed over his face, before he managed to smooth it away. "If it's much longer, I'll go and find you something to eat." They couldn't protest him doing that, could they? After all, the Soldier would need to eat to heal, even given how rarely they were permitted to eat in general. They could function on very little food, but that was under carefully controlled circumstances. Injuries like these could only be controlled so far.

Still. For the moment, at least, he would coax the other man to sit down on the mattress again, and he would sit beside him with his arm around his companion's shoulders. The other weapon could lean against him without fear of loss or punishment...for a time, at least.

Because when food finally did arrive, it arrived only for the Soldier, and they were pulled apart at last. All for the sake of allowing for some cursory but purposeful physical examinations, and as a result, it was declared that he was recovering well enough not to need to be watched quite so closely anymore.

He felt...a deepseated, near physical pang of loss, at this. He even tried to speak up. "I could stay with him a little longer. It doesn't matter." But it did matter, it mattered to him, and he didn't want to be anywhere else."

But what he wanted never mattered, and for him to speak out so brazenly was unacceptable. But why should they dirty their hands disciplining a malfunctioning weapon when there was another one in the room?

Without looking up from his clipboard, one of the other doctors ordered the Soldier to hit him.