He follows her, trying to focus on her hands in his and the sound of her voice until he's sinking back down on the bed. "I'm sorry," he says, and he makes a frustrated sound when his voice cracks a little. "I'm sorry, this is so stupid. It's just, it's a lot, y'know, to feel what they were feeling all at once, there were so many of them and none of it was good, there's just so much emotion there, they were emotional creatures, they felt. There was fear and rage and pain and not much in the way of anything happy, how could there be, right, not with a mission like they had."

He balls his hands into fists, trying to force himself to stop trembling, and grits his teeth. Enough, he keeps telling himself, she doesn't need this. And neither does he, for that matter, he hadn't let the first drift slow him down, he can't very well let a ghost-drift knock him on his ass. Maybe the thing that freaks him out the most is how there's just a little bit of empathy for them, for the kaiju he always so vehemently denied loving. He wouldn't have called it that, not like Hermann always did. He'd built a visual shrine on his body to the kaiju, had made them the highest priority in his life, they'd changed him, he'd seen them as amazing biological beings; but to understand them and then have that connection destroyed... It makes him feel a little like he's missing something now. The question about his leg comes at a good time because he'd much rather focus on the minor strain he's put on it tonight than the confusing string of thoughts running through his head. "My leg's fine. Everything's fine." He closes his eyes, repeating it like a mantra. "Everything's fine."