He winced outwardly at Ark’s cry of pain – it seared through him as if it were his own, and he held his hands up his own defensive gesture, one that was startingly close to Ark’s.
 
“Not…going to hurt you.” Words were still difficult to manage. The sedative had mostly worn off, but the after effects had made him groggy and dry mouthed, and more than a little nauseated. He felt sick to his stomach, though even he had to confess he wasn’t certain if it was the lingering anesthetics in his blood or the metallic scent of blood still in the air.
 
He pressed a balled fist into the bed to support himself, leaning heavily on it.
 
“Trying to help.” That fool clone…he’d tried to hurt Roxanne - that alone should be unforgivable, should be punishable with worse than death, even.
 
Roxanne…
 
His heart twisted dangerously in his chest.
 
But he couldn’t kill Ark. This was his creation, his responsibility.
 
Her oath still rang in his mind and he swallowed bile and desperately tried not to be sick.
 
“Just gonna get the blood off. Stay still.”
 
He dangled the cloth out in front of him, then moved to gently nudge Ark’s good arm with it. “See? No chloroform’r anything. ‘S clean.”