[It's not like he isn't used to this. Maybe not now, not anymore, but when he was in high school - all the time. Shoved up against lockers, thrown across cafeteria tables, getting the fight beat out of him and then locked inside utility closets. If he ignores that Callaghan is so much older and probably equipped with way more killing intent, and the microbots skittering at the peripherals of his shield - forty-one seconds - he can pretend it's just high school again.

He doesn't respond right away, wheezing, trying to get his breath back while his heart beats a rabbit-quick rhythm against the inside of his ribcage. He drops his eyes to the floor and grimaces.]

I - made a mistake. I didn't know it would do that to you, and I never should've used it like that once I did. I was wrong. I get it.

[He shoves Callaghan's coat at him, the one he'd taken such care to bring along. There's an envelope pinned to one of the sleeves, with the photos inside.]

Also, you dropped this.