"Replicator," says Jim, a little startled by his reaction as soon as his ass hits the chair. The adrenaline that's been carrying him since the explosion is melting away, leaving him pale, and in its wake the pain is rushing in as if Bones' presence has given him permission to feel it at last. The burn on his right forearm hurts the worst, and all at once Jim can't wait to get the sleeve away from it.

But the air hitting it makes it worse, and Jim curses outloud, fighting a sudden urge to throw up.