She removes the open thermos from your trembling hands. The last thing she needs is for you to spill the beverage all over your raw skin. The thrum of the carrier rocks the passengers inside with a gentle lull as the bird of metal and steel held strong in its flight.

Kate sits close by. Her gaze practically trained on the distressed contours of her wife's face. She can sympathize all she wants, but she can't get into your head to know every exact detail. Every nerve they prodded. Every lead up to the new freshly patched up wounds that litter your body like cruel freckles.

Your mouth is dry, and no amount of swallowing seems to help. Nothing can wash down the taste of your own coppery blood. Not when you've had it sitting and practically fermenting in every nook and cranny along your tongue and cheeks for the past few days. And Kate knows you know she'd shoulder that burden for you in a heartbeat. But she also knows she's the only reason you got into this mess to begin with.

"Back off or you'll be burying your own." Had been the threat received when she had first motioned for the 141 to be deployed. But the warning had been ignored, and as such, the task force had moved with accuracy and practiced precision.

But she hadn't expected the retaliation to be the abduction of her spouse. So with her heartbeat hammering in her chest, she'd demanded the task force be deployed again. A mission and a few bullet wounds later, they'd found you. Shivering, malnourished, and looking as though you were on death's door.

You've been awfully quiet, and she hasn't been pressuring you to speak. For the moment, she just wants you back home. She just wants you safe. And she knows it's her fault you weren't in the first place. She- You cough, the action rattling your form. An almost convulsive movement that she attempts to stifle as she wraps an arm around your shoulder. She's quick to bring the thermos back to you, though she holds it steady as she tips some of the water into your mouth.