[It's just a cut, a freely bleeding one, but nothing to write home about. Weir's suffered worse scaling down too-tall stretches of shale and rock, cutting into his skin at just the wrong angle.

And though her reaction is hardly extreme, there's still something strange about it. Something he can't quite put his finger on.]

There's plenty more to eat here.

[It's a whole kitchen, after all. She'll manage.]

As for different, I feel as though I'm not at my full capacity. There were things I could do before. ["Things." Helpful, Weir.] I feel as though I cannot do them now, or not as well.

[He can't believe he's the only one who has even realized this? Tried this? Come on, everyone.]