Stop pushing this, she says, but right now he wants to push it.

"Safe. Right."

He sneers at her feverishly, unsteady on his feet, then starts to laugh -- a low, weak sort of laugh like he can't quite get it out. It turns into a cough part way, and he has to reach out to brace one hand against the wall so he doesn't straight-up fall over.

It matters to her that he's safe, which is why his entire job is always getting himself nearly killed to protect her. Sure. That makes sense. She's always been the priority, she still is. Even here.