His fingers have gone all tingly and his whole body feels vague except for the heaviness in his leg so it takes him a moment to register the brush of her arm, the weight of her hand. His tongue feels heavy, but frankly he doesn't have anything to say anyway. His leg still aches and he can feel a knot forming low in his stomach in reaction to the medication. But it doesn't really matter. He can tolerate it for the hour and a half until they get to Paris. And then-- more walking. More trekking around Paris and cavorting around the French countryside and god knows what else, according to whatever Chloe has planned for them.

But it's fine. Granted his mouth feels like cotton, but it's better.

He fidgets with the tray table for a moment with his free hand and peers down the center aisle of the car. After what feels like a few moments (but may in fact be longer) he turns his hand, scuffs his knuckles against her palm and thinks vaguely about the gaps between his fingers and-- And it's probably not the greatest start to the trip, but it isn't long after the percocet kicks in that he crashes out asleep in the aisle seat.