Taking a few moments before walking forth to join the executive, Jax's little smile never once dips, even as the other man's back is turned for just a moment. It's odd, really. He never feels anything inside, only his brain telling him how he should with the physical symptoms spelling it all out further. And yet he is somewhat perplexed as to why he cannot shift that smug expression. It could be one of a plethora of things such as something as simple as knowing there's blood involved. Or he's taking sly joy in someone being hurt, even Proton. But ah well. He doesn't care to dwell on it as he walks on for his office, wide stride having him remain behind the man and slightly to the side, if only an inch, to show he knows the other is in charge, but being just close enough to subtly show which direction to go.
"Come now. All injuries should be taken care of to the best of our ability. Infections can play a nasty part of an early death and we do not want that now, do we, mm?"
But ahh. Why ask him to take care of it when there's a whole medical wing he could attend? Perhaps it could be linked to not wanting people to know that he's injured. Him. An executive. Wanting secrecy is nothing new. Or maybe...
They soon reach level five, the corridor long and empty. Silent. Clean. Dim. Still. There's various doors along it with one at the far end, far enough that it takes a whole minute of a brisk pace to reach it. No others doors are close to it. They left those behind during the walk.
"Colour me honored that you would come to me for this, sir." Unlike many of Rocket's personnel, he doesn't have his ID as a badge that hangs as a lanyard while in the headquarters. Instead, due to the nature of what lies behind the door, he has been made to keep it closer and out of grabbing distance. His free hand slides into his pocket and pulls out the blank looking key card, sliding it down in the security slot before entering a password, all on show for the executive which, if Proton wanted, he could probably just waltz on in there with his own card, password not needed, no doubt.
The door slides open. Inside is the sterile, all too white and brightly lit room as the lights come to life the moment access is granted to the pair. Metal cupboards and filing cabinets, a desk and computer with a plush office chair to boot, then an oddly pristine metal table and a reinforced metal door. It appears a cross between a fucked up doctor's office and common workplace alike. Cold. Too clean. Quiet.
"Come on in and get comfortable, sir."
