"Neither of you understand," Rush says, both hands impulsively jerking up to run through his hair before he severs the movement with a strangled-sounding gasp. Peripherally, he notes that the patchwork of mottled bruising has sharpened into visibility, flowering over the offending arm. He snaps one hand over the intolerable ache, ramming it back and away and into irrelevance. He rakes them both with a panicked glare, their faces and the tips of their hair cast in the unearthly blue glow thrown by the gate's oscillating light. "Time is - is critical in this case and it will not be long before I'm -"

Destiny rumbles, deep and discordant. The spitting and crackling above their heads prefaces a cascade of sparks that shower the gateroom floor. The gate itself shuts off with a sickening, wet snap, steam hushing out from either side in a prolonged agitated hiss.

To what extent his own mental state is affecting the environment is not particularly significant unless -

"There is no guarantee I will be alive by that point," he snaps. "It is, in fact, based on an analysis of their current schedule, highly unlikely."