[his hand comes up and cups the back of her head as she hugs him and - for just a moment - the entire world is right again. He lets his eyes shut and tries to soak the passing moment in. But then she's letting go and stepping back and he's aware that just because he's free doesn't mean they're safe. He slips off the table gingerly, already bracing himself with his good hand when the vertigo hits. He has to fight back the urge to throw up. He's been through this too many times, come off a table like that one too many times, and it never gets easier. This time he's doing it under his own power though and there's no one restraining him or drugs coursing sick and poison through his blood. So he doesn't vomit and he raises his head even though the memories and the motion have the sweat breaking out across his skin again.
He ignores her remand to take care of himself. He's not here to take care of himself. He's here to take care of her. His eyes search the lab.]
>:))
He ignores her remand to take care of himself. He's not here to take care of himself. He's here to take care of her. His eyes search the lab.]
I need my sword.