That isn't what Midnighter meant, but he's far from coherent or particularly perceptive. He lets his head hang from his shoulders, eyes fluttering. He can actually feel the fatigue, a rarity he never appreciates in the moment.

"If- if you want," he says, looking at Marcus in the mirror. He's lovely, as usual, even slightly smeared with blood and too thin as always. "I'll try not to go full coma so you don't get stranded in fucking Oakland."