They used to belong to someone else. [Ratchet's voice is slightly clipped now.] Another surgeon. A friend of mine.

[He can feel tension crawling up his back and neck and shoulders--he can feel Miles' gaze on him and it's strange for it to be so different telling York as they lay side by side with York's half-bandaged face turned up towards the ceiling and his single working eye closed than it is someone who's visibly paying attention. He struggles briefly, then forces himself to relax.]

It's... intensely personal. And involves disclosing some of the things I've been implicitly advised not to spread around here too liberally, on top of that. Sorry.