We can recover, he says. Carlisle curls tighter against himself, pushing his glasses to his forehead. He doesn't have the heart to tell his partner that he's not sure he can, this time -- not even together. He coughs, and forces himself to relinquish his channels to the Mote, even if only for a moment. The energies there help stifle the constant aches he's feeling; though his wounds have been mended, his body is in a painfully fragile state. He hopes that doesn't ripple through the Mote.

I... He stops. Glacius is trying to reassure him, and he should do the same, yet he cannot fight the feeling it'd be nothing more than a lie. He goes for something that is somewhere between the two: I am alive. There is that much.