"Yeah--yeah. Come on." Ratchet does reach out, then, closing a hand on York's shoulder and squeezing gently as they walk to the common room, still feeling strange and wrong-footed. "Kind of a moot point right now anyway, it's not like we can leave even if we wanted to. Come on."

He ushers York over to a couch and lets him sit, then eases down next to him and tries not to look worn. "You need a distraction that doesn't end up with you breaking any of the bones in your hands," Ratchet says, resisting the urge to insist that he check for damage, knowing it's just a reaction to the total helplessness he feels, the urge to exert control over something he can do for York.