Something's strange, something Dimitri can't place -- something's different in Darcy, but then again, it's different in him, too, isn't it? In air that he can breathe, with work to do -- not whole, still so far from home, but better. More himself.

He hiccups a laugh, kisses Darcy's brow and presses their foreheads together. His ribs breathe bloody, jagged and festering, but no matter. They'll have time, now, and time again.

"Darcy -- " he manages to choke; with a sob, he sweeps them into a hug tight enough to shift the water in their lungs.