Danica rolled her eyes when she spotted the cannula in her arm; she'd had more shit stuck into her body in the past year than she'd had in the last five hundred. If the doctor was trying to guilt trip her for not being all flowers and rainbows with her brother just now, then he'd die of old age before he succeeded.

"I'm wounded, not senile," she snapped, struggling to sit up. When she reached to take out the cannula with her other hand, her arm screamed blue murder at her as it moved, a multitude of curses immediately leaving her mouth, at least half of them aimed at him. She let out a growl of frustration, outrage, the end of it turning into her demand. "Get it out."