He stretches his arms out, not giving a thought to the pain wracking his body, aftereffects of the Luxan's venom. He tests the strength of his hands, flexing. They are weak. Weaker than he is accustomed to, his memories clash with physical reality.
Rolling his head, he feels the subtle crack of vertebrae in his neck and grimaces even as the pounding in his head begins to ease.
Walking toward the door, he gives a slight backward glace to the Delvian lying unconscious on the floor. She should have known better.
He smiles as he exits the apothecary. Feeling almost as if Crichton were a new suit of clothing, begging to be tested and worn properly with his friends as their audience. He instead turns in the direction of the hanger, his mission is nearly complete. Time was of the essence in order to safely deliver Crichton into Scorpius' hands.