[A small measure of sympathy? That would make sense, since Chekov isn't even sure why Hei is there. It was kind of him to show, whatever his reasons.
The notion of saving his strength is laughable (or maybe that's the morphine). He's dimly aware of the fact that it would be far better to die than to live; living means a slow healing process and too much time in bed to think. (The fact that he can't think clearly now is, Pavel thinks, a small kindness.) Maybe he could fight to live, if only for Nyota's sake, but there's no strength left to save.
What little pain the morphine left behind is fading. Nyota seems to be fading, as well, and he would like to apologize, but she did tell him not to talk.
The machines are making noises now--a bit like the klaxon on a ship's bridge--but the sound is distant. It gets farther away as Nyota vanishes out of sight. j
no subject
The notion of saving his strength is laughable (or maybe that's the morphine). He's dimly aware of the fact that it would be far better to die than to live; living means a slow healing process and too much time in bed to think. (The fact that he can't think clearly now is, Pavel thinks, a small kindness.) Maybe he could fight to live, if only for Nyota's sake, but there's no strength left to save.
What little pain the morphine left behind is fading. Nyota seems to be fading, as well, and he would like to apologize, but she did tell him not to talk.
The machines are making noises now--a bit like the klaxon on a ship's bridge--but the sound is distant. It gets farther away as Nyota vanishes out of sight. j
And then there's nothing.]