There was a moment in that room where Errant simply smiled through gritted teeth and said "No problem". That was the first moment she'd ever really regretted having real feeling in her hands again. It was an awkward moment that had her questioning how much of her toughness was just the ability to switch pain reception off when it became inconvenient. But that was then. 

This is later, in the hospital parking lot. There's still not much in the way of light here: just the neons of the signs blaring above them, the golden lights running through Errant's implants, and the red ones in Cinders'. Errant reaches her arm down, clasps it firmly around Cinders' wrist in a way that prevents her from squeezing back in turn, and pulls her back out of the wheelchair and onto her feet again. 

"Sorry about not letting you walk out under your own power," she shrugs, "Hospital protocol. It's nothing you did wrong, they just need it to be my fault if... you know what, that doesn't matter, never mind. Also sorry I don't have a car waiting. You know, I've got licenses to operate fourteen different vehicle types, and I never drive anywhere for myself? Not that I can afford most of the things I'm allowed to-- um, a-anyway."

She turns toward the street. In the same motion, her hands pull out an ash-gray beret and automatically angle it on her head so that her face is blocked from the view of the parking lot cameras. She shrugs again, but stays quiet about it. It's a cute look, if nothing else. She grins, this time without pain. 

"All right then Cinders, unlimited sanction: tell me where we're getting food. And then we've got a lot to talk about, I think."