[The thought doesn't even occur to Owen, or it would have occurred a lot earlier when he cut the shirt off. Mostly he's just focused on how awful that wound looks, and how he isn't fully sure he really has sufficient supplies to deal with it here. He has, however, thought of drinks; there is a selection of orange juice, sports drinks and bottled water on hand.]

Take your pick.

[He sets aside gauze, antiseptic cream with mild anaesthetic and tape on the bed.]

...I'm really sorry, but this is going to hurt worse than the last time, and then it's going to get better. Trust me, all right?