[He grunts as the man catches him, his shoulder aching in protest at the sudden movement - and he knew the man's arm was in worse shape.

Those eyes - those eyes are proof enough, that of the two of them, or the both...

It's all back to him, holding the fate of one man in his hands, a man who never asked for this. And yet never forgot why they did this.]

There is one logical choice here.

[His other hand reaching up, at first appearing to give in, to climb, but his fingers fiddled with the small button that held his glove fast, knowing between behind drenched and the slickness of leather...

that he will fall out of the man's grasp.]