"I can use crutches," she said.
"You can use a chair for five minutes."
Porter had already rolled one out.
The examination room smelled faintly of antiseptic and coffee. Emily sat on the paper-covered table with her pant leg rolled above the knee while Porter worked methodically. He asked where the original injury occurred, when the instability began, whether the knee locked, whether it swelled, whether she had numbness, whether the pain changed with stairs or twisting.
Emily answered like she was filing a maintenance report.
"Pain on extension?"
"Sometimes."
"Instability with rotation?"
"Yes."
"Falls?"
"Not many."
Porter stopped. "Define not many."
Emily looked away. "Enough that I stopped counting."
Cole, standing against the wall with his arms crossed, made a sound low in his throat.
Porter continued the exam. He tested the joint gently, then more specifically. Emily's face remained still until he applied pressure at one angle and the mask cracked. Her hand tightened on the edge of the table.
"Sorry," he said.
"You're doing your job."
"That isn't the same thing as not hurting you."
He stepped back and pulled the stool closer.
"I need imaging. At minimum X-rays today. MRI if we can get it arranged quickly. But before I see anything, I can tell you this is not a simple old sprain. There is chronic instability here. The knee is not being supported the way it should be."
Emily looked down at it as if he were describing machinery belonging to someone else.
"I've been getting by."
"Getting by is not a diagnosis."
Cole stared at the floor, jaw tightening.
Porter looked from one to the other. "What's the financial situation?"
Emily stiffened.
"I can pay for the visit."
"That wasn't what I asked."
Cole spoke before she could. "Veteran. Eighteen years. Injury from deployment. Claim got tangled. She stopped fighting it."
Emily turned sharply. "I didn't say tangled."
"You described two years of appeals, missing records, rescheduled appointments, and a knee that never got fixed. I am summarizing."
Porter did not react to the tension. "Do you have any of the original imaging?"
"Old discs somewhere. Service medical notes. Incident reports. I kept copies."
"Good. Keep them. Don't hand away the only copies you own."
He ordered the X-rays first. The clinic technician positioned Emily carefully while Cole waited outside the room, pacing a path along the hallway until Cody finally told him he was making everyone nervous.
The images did not answer every question, but they showed enough for Porter to insist on an MRI the next morning at a center that had a cancellation. He gave Emily a stabilizing brace, strict instructions to stop pretending the leg was reliable, and a pair of crutches.
"No lifting," he said. "No stairs if you can avoid them. No kneeling on concrete under motorcycles."
Emily looked at Cole.
Cole looked delighted to have medical authority on his side.
"You hear that?"
"I was there."
Porter pointed at her. "And if it gives way again, you do not just wait five minutes and keep moving. Chronic instability can damage the joint further. You have already had years of compensation patterns. The longer you leave the mechanical problem untreated, the more likely you are to create secondary problems."
Emily gave him a dry look. "You know I understand mechanical analogies, don't you?"
"Cole told me what you did to his Harley. I figured I would communicate in the local language."