[He's really gonna have this conversation out here, right now, while they're both gently freezing to death.

Right.

But that's Hardison, and Eliot wouldn't expect anything less.]

Not really.

[He doesn't really want to talk about the awful details. He doesn't want to tell him what happened to him in the short time that he's been here--the days feeling more like years now, and then no time at all. At the impossible things he's seen, at the impossible things he's felt.

He shouldn't even be here right now. He doesn't know how he's alive. But he doesn't want Hardison to worry about him, even though he's not sure if by keeping quiet about it will make him worry any less. An odd memory pops up of him and Hardison talking about his dad. It was a quiet moment that he felt...like he could open up about it, trusting Hardison with a memory, a piece of himself that he kept under wraps. He's not sure if he wants to part with this memory, it's poison, it's got spikes, it's pain.]

The town, is--yeah. [He doesn't meet his gaze.] The fog, y'know. Don't go in it. It puts stuff in your head, makes you run away from it. Weirdest thing I ever experienced, and that's sayin' a lot.

[He clears his throat, trying to change the subject. It's fine. This is all fine.]