"Even worse than ours," Jyn says, only half a joke. She's been less than impressed so far, but she would have been by anyone, probably. The fact remains that they kept Cassian alive against what must have been all possible odds, and for that, she can spare them a little appreciation. Had she woken up and learned the worst, that he'd gotten here with her but he hadn't made it, she would never have kept still or quiet about it, would have tracked down anyone who'd had a hand in failing to save him and made them pay for it. A small, not fully awake part of her nearly says something to that effect, but she has enough sense not to. Already this seems so fragile, something warm and safe that could vanish with any slight wrong word or movement, just like everything else good she's ever had, and she doesn't want to be the one to drive that spike into it. Not yet, at least.

What she does say is nearly lost, anyway, with her head tucked against his chest, words spoken all of an inch from his skin, her hand not moving when he doesn't seem to mind its presence. There's a part of her that wants to do more, to find and run her fingers over every bruise and line of stitches that she knows he must wear, unseen in the dark, just to prove to herself that he's alive, that he survived, even if somewhere else, he didn't. The pain, the injuries, they make this real; the ache in her leg and shoulders keeps her centered somehow. She hadn't minded the thought of dying, but it's hard not to question everything about this, save for that one fact. "Very unprofessional. That poor third doctor."