He grabs at my arm, and I gaze, almost glare, down at his grip, but I do not shake my arm away. I merely sigh, heavily, and then glance up toward his face, trying to catch his gaze with my own.

"And when you went into Helheim unassisted, without informing anyone, even me, that was acceptable?" My voice is low, cold, deadly serious.

It raises, keeping its knife edge, and getting louder, while remaining just as cold. "When I had to be notified by a rookie night shift nobody that you went in there, alone, with nothing but an archaic weapon?"

I turn to face him properly, leaning forward a bit, almost looming over him, where he sits in his damn chair at his damn computer.

"When I barely got to you in time. When you could have died." My voice actually breaks, the first time it has in years, longer than I can remember.

I shake his hand off my arm, and grab at his arm in turn, my grip hard enough to bruise. "I could have lost you."

I, not the project. Me.