Having momentarily swivelled to glance upon the Communications Officer as she departed, the Captain turns once more. With his view now directed at the line of cell blocks before him, he finds that the prisoner had moved. Whereas just moments prior, the detainee had been stood upright, gazing at his captors; now, he is placed upon a lone article of furniture within his confines. This rectangular piece may best be described as a clever composite of bench and bed. As it ultimately serves a dual purpose, this item is an appropriate addition for such a small space.

With the prisoner positioned on the opposing side of the furniture – his eyes aimlessly fixated upon the cell's rear wall – the Captain cannot view his face. There is no way to discern what expression the younger man may possess, what thoughts he might have. And yet, it seems clear that anger might not be what the man now feels. Anger toward his captors, that is. He had known all along, that his actions may catch up to him. And they did.

"Have you come to berate me, Captain?" Not altering his placement in the slightest, the detainee speaks. "To tell me how disappointed you are that a promising young officer would dare carry out such deeds?"

"I'm not here to have a conversation with you."

The prisoner almost seems to taunt the Captain, to get a rise out of him, perhaps. Indeed, Kirk feels an anger toward him, for his deeds, yes...but also for the manner in which he now flaunts his responsibility for such acts. Yet, the Captain's face had remained almost deadpan during his rapid response.

"Oh? Then, perhaps, you're going to remind me of why I'm in this cell...why you captured me."

"You, ", the Captain's tone begins to show some of his anger, "are going to stand trial for the attempted murder of – "

"Murder?" At last, the attacker rises from his position and swivels to meet his captor's eye. "My purpose was not to murder...him, Captain. I only sought to cause him suffering."

Rage swells within the Captain, like a dam near bursting its banks. In a clamping of fists and a gritting of teeth, he hastily swivels away from the prisoner. He will no longer engage with this man, and rightly so. The attacker seems to take pride in his deeds – too much, perhaps – and Kirk will not stand for it. He soon makes for the brig's exit, not without giving a quiet order to a guard first.

"I don't think he'll try anything, but I want to know the moment he does."

"Aye, Sir."

With that, the Captain finally leaves, not knowing of the fiendish grin upon the prisoner's face.

ooo

"That asshole really threw a spanner in the works, God fucking dammit!" The words barrel from McCoy's mouth in a spit of fury.

This latest alteration of the victim's condition has wreaked its havoc upon the already-stretched medical staff, and of course, the patient himself. In a parallel to the Captain's rage, the Chief Medico's entire being is teeming with it. Moreover, the remaining crew – some of whom hail not from Earth – are, to put mildly, on edge with the recent attacks upon their First Officer. Those that are privy to these events, that is. With the acquisition of the attacker comes a mild relaxing of the captors and medicos prior warrant of secrecy. That is, the medicos do have an oath to the abiding of patient privacy. Yet, some of the staff themselves are not of human heritage, as per the rather diverse range of trained individuals that Starfleet has to offer. And yes, the staff within the walls of the brig may also be acquainted with the reasoning behind the assailant's imprisonment. Particularly with the reports filed by his own captors.

Within human and non-human crew, there is indeed an anger toward the attacker; and yet, in some, there is an inkling of disquiet, of fear. A worry for who else the assailant may have harmed, either prior to these events or at later times...had he not become exposed, that is. The notion is rather unsettling.

With the patient almost prepared once more for surgery, the Chief medico shares a glance at his colleague, and his friend. During the short outburst, M'Benga had not flinched one iota.

"Sorry, I just – "

"Never be sorry, Len." M'Benga's own voice is calm, parallel to his colleague's tone after a lengthy inhale. "I feel very much the same way."

The two physicians are indeed human, with all of their inherent emotions and reactivity, yet there is nary the space for the usage of such things. Their duty – and their patient – await their trained hands and focused minds. These two medicos, and their remaining staff, can 'switch off', so to speak, and work objectively. That is their duty, that is what they are trained into. For the sake of their patients.

"He's ready, Doctors." The task's end happens only a few moments after the physicians' speech, with a nurse informing them post-haste.

"And so are we...let's go back in." McCoy is the one to respond, and as he and M'Benga had already made their own preparations for the upcoming procedure, they begin almost instantly.

As the laser scalpel breaks the patient's skin once more, the medicos are unaware of the two crew members heading their way.