So little time has passed, it doesn't seem right that Wrench should forget what it's felt like to need this method. He watches Kurt take up the pencil, and there's enough earnest interest in the tall man's expression that his feet shuffle forward almost involuntarily. He's leaning in to read those words even as his companion is putting them on the page, and when the pad of paper is offered up towards him, Wrench's motion towards it only seems to increase the velocity with which those words hit him squarely in the gut. They lack none of Kurt's sentiment. Static and flat on the page, they still somehow sing with all the earnest force of his plea.

I won't die, Wrench refuses. It's another vocabulary word in their bank. Two flattened hands presented out, one palm-up and the other palm-down. He flips them so the palms face opposite of where they started, like the shovel of a gravedigger turning the soil. Distance closed, Wrench presents himself in front of the man with arms raised gently from his sides in a gesture of uncertain defeat. He doesn't seem put out by the earnest request for his cooperation, but Wrench has the look of someone who scarcely knows what to make of himself, or how to fashion himself into something useful for Kurt. He thinks on it for a moment and finally settles into a chair at the table where they've passed so much of their time, where he can take up the pad of paper and the pencil.

It's blunt distraction, too overt to be anything but. Just a means of soothing himself by ignoring some immediacy. Wrench puts the pencil to the pad and sketches something out:

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