[Slowly nods, in reassurance. Gently, slowly, he extends a hand to help Gabriel out. Clasp it, push it away, or hold on to stand up, it's his choice, but he needs to make sure Gabriel is also 'okay'.]
[He didn't want to get up. The ground was solid and didn't move, and he wanted to be there. But if he could move he wouldn't be trapped and this man wasn't one of them.]
[So, he stood up on wobbly legs, avoiding Mori's gaze.]
[Continues holding onto his hand, an assurance that he wasn't going anywhere. He'd be there for his 'father'. He then gestures to himself, trying to remind Gabriel.]
... Gabriel?
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Don't hurt me.
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[Gets down on one knee.]
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You're...
[The young man looks familiar, and he sifts through shards of memory.]
... you're okay.
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[From the depths of memory, one word surfaces.]
Mayfield.
[He takes Mori's hand.]
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[So, he stood up on wobbly legs, avoiding Mori's gaze.]
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... Mori.
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[Words aren't coming together, all smashed up and gluey, but he hears.]
[Hand squeeze]
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17...68... Beaver Street.
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How long?
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... Two months.
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Good to... to be back.
[Wait, what? If it's any consolation, he doesn't sound all that enthused, but he's not being sarcastic, either.]
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... Missed you.
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...
[another hand squeeze, and a little lean against the young man. It's just nice to hear it, and to have human contact that wasn't meant to harm.]
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