[He shudders, closes his eyes, fists his hand in the back of Zane's shirt. Weight is good, real. He has felt, too often recently, that he might drift away at any moment, that he is mist only occasionally coalescing. He can do this, at least, he can present collected data, and if it's haggard and terse, at least he isn't sobbing or yelling anymore.]

I don't know, I don't - I though it was just nerve damage at first, that I messed up carving the symbiant out, it was still there, entwined, so I had to - but I didn't, the surgery was perfect, damnit, and temporal perception is in the cerebellum, not the sensorimotor cortex or the spine which is where I'd expect damage, and Mal had the same progression and some of the same symptoms, and Ned said something similar, but it's not just. It's not a flood, Zane, there have been floods come and gone and it's still happening.

It started small, a few minutes lost, and it just kept getting worse, I'd suddenly realize I was starving and Mel was howling and I'd check and realize I hadn't eaten or moved in two days, and then it got suddenly much worse, just, I don't know how long, not long ago, and I don't.

I don't see the endpoint for this.

[There might be one. Certainly. But he doesn't see it. The pattern is not known.]