[center][hr][hr][IMG]http://fontmeme.com/embed.php?text=Lionel%20Wickett&name=AKENATEN.ttf&size=65&style_color=9C6F6F[/IMG]
[IMG]https://pbs.twimg.com/profile_images/1226827915/Screen_shot_2011-01-26_at_5.37.53_PM_400x400.png[/IMG]
[hr][b]Location:[/b] His room[hr][/center]

Lionel was not a man of weak constitution. He had seen just about every internal organ in the human body exposed to open air, he had felt men struggle for breath under his hands before they grew still and the life left their body, he had even managed to eat his ex-wife's cooking on occasion; however, the smell of disinfectants, medicines and the rushing of doctors filled him with a sense of dread down to the pit of his stomach that he couldn't shake, and when the person being operated on was someone he had some measure of respect for he couldn't stand to be there any longer.

When Genevieve followed him to help him move without falling onto his face, but not back towards the med bay, he non-verbally accepted her help again, this time a bit more openly and without any grumblin' or cussin'. His room was less'n 50 feet away from the Med Bay across flat ground, but any extra stability was still welcomed. When Gene told him to call, he looked at her with an indeterminate expression. It could have been pain, exasperation, irritation, some combination of the three or none of the above, but he gave her a solid, no-nonsense answer.

[color=9C6F6F]"Will do, Miss."[/color] With that he shuffled into his room and proceeded to fall face first onto his bed. 

He could really use a drink right now. Lionel looked up from the bed and spotted a nearby half-empty bottle.

It was out of arm's reach.

Tā mā de wǒ de shēnghuó.