"You know I do not," he says, a sharp edge to those few simple words. Why would he, when it is the only thing people have ever seen on him, even before his intelligence?
Whose turn is it to babysit the kid?
You're too young to be here.
Why don't you leave this to the adults?
Why would he, when his age is a weapon in anybody's hands pointed right at his chest that can be fired over and over and over again, burrowing deeper until all he can do is throw himself into his work, prove them wrong on skill and merit.
I have never been a kid, Pavel thinks, not even when I was young.
"And yet you are making the comment anyway. If you are here to insult me, captain, or treat me like a child, then I would rather you leave."
Pavel's eyes narrow, suspicion cutting through the layer of pain-medication induced fog in his eyes.
He is the captain, and the doctor's friend. He would know when he is off-shift.
A person only sneaks around when they have something to hide.
Cal's face, twisted and full of fury, flashes behind his eyes and Pavel sits up straighter, wincing at the flare of pain in his stomach, just below the gnarled, seared lump of raised flesh.
His heart slams against his ribcage.
"—You are avoiding the doctor." It is not a question. "So you snuck in, captain. To check on me—"
Maybe he sounds paranoid, but he thinks he has every reason to be given the circumstances, so he does not allow himself to dwell on it. If he is wrong, if this is just his paranoia born of the events of the last several hours, days—he isn't sure—then he hopes the captain will understand and forgive the lie.
"—even though you came to see me earlier."