He gives himself, on the outside, five seconds. it's easy to keep track. In the mind though, oh, in the mind? The speed of thought and the gaping ache where Delta had been filled and full to the brim with soothing code and a familiar voice? It feels like a year. York doesn't care about the tears dripping hot down his cheeks, the way his hands clench tight behind his back like Delta's something he can hold onto.

he's back.

He's alive.

And that makes him whole.

Five seconds before he sucks in a breath and slowly makes his way to his feet. "After you, Wash."