He laughs, unsteadily, a little giddy. "Yeah," he agrees, fumbling his arm onto her shoulders. "Shit. I haven't felt this wasted in a while."

It'd be embarrassing, if he wasn't half-drowned in the warmth pulsing from her. If he wasn't so happy, or relieved, practically weak-kneed with knowing he's finally found a place to rest.

He didn't realize how much of himself he still held in reserve, unable to believe Dejah really cared this much, still tangled in Front and Tail and all the decades of mistrust the train beat into him. But she means it. This is real. She's never going to hurt him.

One wobbly step at a time, he lets Dejah guide him toward her bed.