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His thoughts falter, stumbling over themselves, and a heavy confusion settles over him. He blinks, tries to pull himself back, but when his gaze clears, he’s looking up at Ford from the floor. His knees have given out without warning, his body folded down beneath him, but he can’t remember the exact moment it happened.
When… when did I…?
And then it hits him, a dizzying wave of realisation, mocking and brutal. Oh, he thinks faintly, way to go, moron. You’re blacking out.
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Dear lord above if he dies I go for your throat
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