He balances the thing across his hip like a striped bowling ball, the weight heavy and familiar even if its current resting place is anything but, and takes Connecticut's hand without much prompting. Kevlar on kevlar, two special agents shelled in tactical armor - one minus her sight, the other minus every ounce of stability that his memories once allowed.

He breathes out. Can't tell if the instinct to remove his helmet stemmed from his own impulses or ones borrowed from a civilian who was better at losing himself in eddies of memory than he was running a special ops research program. Doesn't take the time to examine it at length.

"I think...okay. Yeah." He can guide her there. It's awkward progress, but he recognizes ocean air - recognizes its scent. "It's this way. I, uh...I think."