Sheska blinks as the room spins nauseatingly, acid bitter in the back of her mouth. Everything was not all right. It was her fault. He was here because of her. Her mistakes, her poor decisions, her self-absorbed ways. But also because luck hadn't entirely deserted her and they had been in time. Otherwise she wouldn't be here, and neither would he.

A raspy, garbled sound that might have been a laugh or a protest makes her way out before she can stop it, and she gently recaptures his hands. "No, d-don't... please don't. I can't--" For a moment she's back in the apartment, pressing the wounds closed, slipping in his blood, and her stomach lurches violently. Then she's back, clutching him too tightly, and she drops his hands as she recoils with a choked cry.