"Maybe six hundredth time is the charm," he deadpans, but there's something a little desperate on the back end of it. He wants it to work. Poison tugs slightly at the restraints, but he's still not going anywhere and Jack's hands are warm and firm on his sides, anchoring him to reality.

"I know," he murmurs. "But sometimes I still want to protect you from the shit that happens in my head. Even if it's not exactly great for either of us when I go all Lone Ranger."