“A hospital-hospital, or a medical bay?” Eason’s slowly-dawning realization hasn’t yet come around to the fact that they’re talking well past each other, too. He notices the dog at his feet but doesn’t have the time to think about reaching down to give it a pat before it’s bounding in the other direction. The eager little pup diverts itself towards the woman instead. Somehow that gives Eason the permission to actually look at her. He takes her in slowly, noting her injuries first, then her age, and finally the fact that she seems utterly petrified.

He’s only barely holding himself together now. Someone’s either playing a screwed-up joke on the both of the, or something’s gone wrong. Either way, he can feel his own annoyance simmering just under the surface. He’d like to say to hell with the shitty wheelchair. He’s been in a lot of medical bays and a few fewer hospitals and not a one of them have used such a cumbersome, antiquated design. But he’s not staying rooted on the bed all day either, so he grabs the thing by the handle and angles it towards the bed so he can transfer in.

The whole thing’s a lot clumsier than he’d like, but at least now he feels like an active participant in his environment. And it’s a hell of an environment, he’s starting to realize. “Beth, okay. Are you saying you fell asleep in the hospital and woke up here? Or was there anything in between?”

Eason pushes towards the center of the room when something catches his eye. A framed portrait of the two of them sits on the mantle, all familiar smiles and loving touches. “Wait, what the hell is that?”