The kid goes somewhere inside himself, and Alex is fucking thankful for the moment. He's still conscious--more or less--and still rigid as a board in his attempt for stillness. Fine enough. Fucking fine.

Turning to the side, Alex starts a complicated string of whistles, then coughs, throat dry, swelled. And he doesn't really have a code for what he needs to ask. He Spanglishes the rest of it. It just needs to be-- "--Smooth. Not smaller, if it can be helped, though I can put together a sealant for now. We need something that--" --Fits. Where it's supposed to be. Without pain.

ED-E moves up and down once, then, at a nod from Alex, uses the thinnest laser he can muster on the edges of the small piece of bone in Alex's hand.