Maya went entirely, peacefully limp.
The corridor was silent.
Lora stood frozen against the wall, her hand over her mouth.
Raphael looked at the unconscious human woman in Damian's arms with an expression that mingled genuine concern with helpless amusement in roughly equal proportions.
Damian looked at Raphael.
Raphael looked at Damian.
"That," Raphael said carefully, "was probably our fault."
"Probably?" Damian repeated flatly.
"Almost certainly," Raphael amended.
Damian looked down at Maya, who appeared entirely comfortable in unconsciousness...her face relaxed, her breathing steady, looking like someone who had simply decided that a nap was the correct response to current circumstances.
"She was fine," Damian said, his voice carrying the particular quality of a man replaying events and identifying the exact moment things went wrong. "She was fine when it was just me. She held a conversation. She mentioned the towel rack."
"The towel rack," Raphael repeated.
