"Thank you," he repeats -- though there's a vagueness to it, as if he's not entirely sure he said it the first time. Gaeta blinks at the glass for another second before stretching out a careful hand to accept it.

Please let my hands be steady enough, he thinks dimly. Please don't let me spill it everywhere like I'm a frakking --

He cuts that thought off before it goes any further. When he brings the straw close enough to take a sip, the shock of the cold water going down his throat makes him cough.