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Each time Jordan woke up to find himself still in a bed in the infirmary, he grew slowly more convinced that this was real, that it wasn't an excruciatingly extended nightmare. No more illusions. The texture of the sheets against his skin was stiff and strange, but the sheets smelled of the soap that the common laundry rooms stocked, and under the hospital smell of disinfectant and cotton was the odd and unidentifiable tang that Jordan associated with the labs. Detailed as they'd been, his hallucinations had limited themselves to the details of misery and agony. The tiny, mundane things that he had begun to notice in between doses of sedatives were somehow more convincing than any other evidence could be.

He turned his head slightly to check on the IV in his hand. Still there, along with the faint tug on his skin that the tape produced each time he moved. He had vague memories of having eaten something during the time in the cell, but whether that memory had been real was impossible to determine. He felt frustratingly weak, and the implications of that fact worried him. How long had he been down there? The question brought memories of the nightmares bubbling up from under the surface of his mind, and he hastily flinched away from the thoughts.

You can't not think about it forever, Ferros said gently.

Watch me try. Jordan brought a shaky hand out from under the sheet to rub across his face, and discovered that he'd been gone long enough to be in bad need of a shave. Was it a good sign that he could focus enough to be annoyed by that? He was going to take it that way, anyway.

The voice made him jump, making the IV twinge a little, but it was a welcome surprise. Jordan turned his head and found Harrison sitting nearby, watching him with concern, a magazine forgotten in his hand. "Morning," Jordan answered, and was startled to hear his voice come out raspy. His throat felt scratchy and unpleasant. "Hope you didn't get too bored waiting."

The touch made Jordan flinch slightly, but he twined his fingers with Harrison's immediately, some of the brittle, haunted look in his eyes easing. Touch was one more proof that this wasn't a hallucination; in the rare half-lucid moments between nightmares, he hadn't let himself think much about home, the contrast too great. "Infirmary, right?" he asked cautiously. "This isn't a dream, is it?"

Would a figment of his imagination be able to answer that question? No, he wasn't going to think about that. If he started doubting reality again, he felt like something in him might break.

It had been difficult for Rep to cope lately. It was one thing when someone was dead or presumed so. He had his coping mechanisms for those situations, he almost without fail resorted to contorting reality via denial into a place where they were merely absent with possibility of return. It was unhealthy but generally it worked and gave him the breathing space to carry on.

The present situation with Jordan had been much tougher to deal with, the knowledge the other man was there, right there in the infirmary, but at the same time out of reach stretched his ability to cope as far as it would go. Every moment since the return from the lair had been edged with a sense of impatience, impatience he'd tried to push away with relentless training to no avail. He wasn't patient, he had never been patient. He wanted to know if the prison had changed him - the way it had changed Rin when he found her. Even that though, wouldn't matter, his choices had been made a long time ago. He just wanted Jordan back, no matter what that meant.

When the text arrived he was just on his way back from the showers after a disastrous shadow run, a little bit bruised and frayed around the edges. On reading what it said, he immediately broke into a run over to the labs, ignoring every protest his battered muscles made.

He still had a towel around his hair when he peeked around the door, and it likewise became apparent as he edged into the room, he wasn't wearing shoes either. He didn't even try and hide the way his expression lit up to see Jordan awake, it was an impossible task. In the swell of feeling in the moment he found himself just rooted to the spot, still holding his shower things like a shield. What did you even say to someone when you'd missed them so much, when you felt like you could hardly speak for relief?

He wanted to say I missed you, I love you, don't go away again.

He settled for. "Sup sleepyhead?" and a smirk instead.

"Today's August. 17th, I think." He checked his phone again. "Yeah. Friday."

He scooted his chair over a little, making room for Rep by the bedside. He didn't let go of Jordan's hand, and he stayed mindful of jarring him.

"You cold, or thirsty, or anything?"

Jordan closed his eyes and forgot to breathe for several seconds. Too long. His mind skittered in tiny circles, repeating lucky to be alive, lucky to be alive. His hand tightened on Harrison's, clinging to him as well as he could while he still felt so weak. "I'm alive," he said under his breath, half trying to convince himself of the fact.

He didn't want to be touched (legs, tiny legs, crawling all over him, the delicate touch of blades, the suffocating weight of dirt), and he wanted to crawl into their arms and never let go. A twinge of shame quivered through his stomach for needing the reassurance. He'd hurt them too, just by being gone. He didn't deserve their anxious concern.

Harrison was asking him a question. "I'm - I think I'm thirsty," he said, looking doubtfully at the IV line. He shouldn't be thirsty with a drip attached to his veins, but he was.

Rep took Jordan's hand with initial hesitance - it was the point to him where he was testing what could be just some blissful daydream to its breaking point. But once he had him and the world continued, he relaxed, realising how much he had missed even something as subtle as physical contact. He felt like he should say something to fill the quiet as Harrison went for a drink, but words right now felt out of synch with how he felt - he knew the moment he opened his mouth he'd babble about everything and nothing and it would only take away from the intent sort of doting contentment he felt.

It didn't help that there was still a strong sense that everything wasn't entirely right. Jordan was awake and alive but something was amiss, and to his frustration he couldn't be sure what. The most he could do was guess at whatever it was that was setting his nerves on edge and making him wish very hard he could read minds, just to help a little.

As Harrison came back with the water, he finally managed to at least speak, even if everything still seemed trivial in the face of what had happened. With his free hand he pressed on the springs of the bed as if distracted - despite being far from it. "Those ******** beds suck so bad. I think they make them intentionally uncomfortable so people won't stick around too long right?" He eyed his own hand and his brain could practically be heard shifting gear as he remembered to add. "Oh! I like, got the cuff off and s**t. Allan took it off when we came to get you guys."