Ratchet just looks at him for a moment, his expression shifting helplessly. He's exhausted, even if he doesn't know it, the harsh florescent light in the bathroom pressing dark smudges under his eyes as he watches York, a flicker of real, stripped vulnerability in his face for the first time. It's faint but it's there, dragged out from behind the comfortable armor of his profession and the iron control he's had to exert since he woke up in this mess to keep from breaking down completely. The corners of his mouth tighten.

"Don't ask me to kill you again," he says quietly, but he doesn't look away. "I don't know if you remember, but--don't. Please."