It's only orange juice

Michael watched as Andrew's expression hardened, and all he could feel was sympathy for him. None of this could be easy, and he was thankful that Mr. Beckett came back with a large glass of orange juice, and Mr. Newman was close behind him with a steaming tray of what appeared to be a warmed up meal. 

"Andrew, come." Maxwell ordered, and Andrew slowly moved his feet off of the table, but Michael stopped him. 

"Uh, Mr. Beckett, Andrew's feet have just been patched up. He needs to rest them before he should put any weight on them. Is it alright if he eats on the couch?" Maxwell didn't seem angry to the others, but Andrew could tell that he wasn't pleased that the new Doctor had spoken back to him. Andrew waited, held in stasis as he waited for Maxwell's verdict. 

"Stay seated, Andrew. I'll bring it over." Andrew nodded, relaxing back into the couch. Michael also relaxed.