[ When she shows her wound to the doctor, Faraday takes that opportunity to get a good look at it, as well. The quick inspection is enough to confirm what he already knew – it was worse than Emma had let on, and he feels that faint tug of guilt in his gut again. As the Doctor stands to gather his supplies, Faraday casts her a flat sort of look, as if to say, You're such liar.

He wanders around after that, as the doctor sets to work disinfecting her cut, looking idly at shelves and books. Satisfied with his examination, Faraday turns back – and he notices with some alarm the look of unease in her eyes, the pain on her face.

(Guilt again. He really starts to hate that feeling. And worry, too – strange and unfamiliar. It's been such a long time since he's given a shit about anyone else but himself.)

He crosses the space in a few quick strides, hovering uncertainly over the doctor's shoulder as he sets to work, and offers a small smile at the hard look she tries to cast him. ]

Glare daggers all you like. [ Even if the doctor can't hear him, Faraday still pitches his voice low, out of habit. ] They'd go right through me, anyway.

[ He pauses, glancing around again as if the room might provide some inspiration. Emma is clearly in need of some form of distraction, and after a quick false start, he says, ]

You know, I'm startin' to think I'm a good influence on you, all things considered. Don't think I'd ever seen you lie before – honestly didn't even think you capable of it, pious woman that you are. Yet you did it. Lied straight to my face without even a twitch.

I think I might try'n'get you to smoke, next. Maybe play poker. I got an awful lot of trick shuffles I could show you.