Szayel stared at Marluxia, the cannula still in his hand. He debated, seriously debated, refusing to hand it over. Maybe he could pretend he had no idea of the value of what precious little it contained, as if his medical professional side had eclipsed his scientific acumen.

It wouldn't wash, he realised. They weren't quite stupid enough to fall for it, and probably had too high an opinion of his intelligence for him to successfully play dumb.

Still, it was worth a shot.

"This belongs in the sharps disposal," he said, endeavouring to give Marluxia a puzzled look.