He understands the sentiment; understands her plan, to check for casualties because it seems likely there are some. Not everyone is as strong a swimmer as he is, not everyone has the capacity to recover from something like this in the middle of a fucking lake even if they are. As disoriented as he'd been, as uncomfortable as the realization of lost time and missing memories is for him in particular, he steels himself.
He's got to get his shit together and actually do something. Move.
She pitches forward, he wraps his arms around her tightly. Maybe a little too tightly, but christ he's glad it isn't her he's going to go diving for. At least there's that. He shifts a beat later, pushing her back just far enough to cup a hand around her chin and look at her in the eyes.
"Get the list - start a count, whatever you can do, but- don't go back in the water." It's not an order, he's not the order giving type. It's a request, but he says it with a sort of plea in his eye. It's not frantic sounding, he's a calm and logical rationalizer even in the face of chaos. "Drowning victims- they lose control, they grab whatever they think they can float on and they push it down, understand?"
He's seen it, he's caused it. Out in the ocean, out in anywhere, husbands will scramble in wild reckless abandon, lost to their instincts, press their wives under the water to try and drag themselves up for air. They'll drown one another before they ever get ahold of themselves. The coast guard's method is to knock hysterical survivors unconscious the second they start flailing. If she goes back in, it might happen. She doesn't have a metal arm to knock their asses out.
Meaning, obviously, he intends to be the one going back in. Not the first time he's pulled people from the water, at least he's got experience. The upper body strength, too, to pull grown men out. Not that she doesn't, but it might be easier for him than for her.
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He's got to get his shit together and actually do something. Move.
She pitches forward, he wraps his arms around her tightly. Maybe a little too tightly, but christ he's glad it isn't her he's going to go diving for. At least there's that. He shifts a beat later, pushing her back just far enough to cup a hand around her chin and look at her in the eyes.
"Get the list - start a count, whatever you can do, but- don't go back in the water." It's not an order, he's not the order giving type. It's a request, but he says it with a sort of plea in his eye. It's not frantic sounding, he's a calm and logical rationalizer even in the face of chaos. "Drowning victims- they lose control, they grab whatever they think they can float on and they push it down, understand?"
He's seen it, he's caused it. Out in the ocean, out in anywhere, husbands will scramble in wild reckless abandon, lost to their instincts, press their wives under the water to try and drag themselves up for air. They'll drown one another before they ever get ahold of themselves. The coast guard's method is to knock hysterical survivors unconscious the second they start flailing. If she goes back in, it might happen. She doesn't have a metal arm to knock their asses out.
Meaning, obviously, he intends to be the one going back in. Not the first time he's pulled people from the water, at least he's got experience. The upper body strength, too, to pull grown men out. Not that she doesn't, but it might be easier for him than for her.