He's got a small first aid kit in his bag, reasonably if cheaply well-stocked. His hands shake a bit as he gets it out, but the routine of unzipping the case and laying it out open, resting on the side of the bath, helps him feel more grounded.

Still, the question makes him stop and hesitate.

"...I don't know," he admits. "Some people it happens once. Some people it happens more than once. Most people, it never happens at all — the lucky ones." He gets up to wash his hands at the sink, scrub black sticky bile from under his fingernails. Apparently to the tap, he says, "I don't know what'll happen. I'm sorry."