He feels sick. Really, really sick.
Finding the world not holding still the way its supposed to, Jordan stumbles the few feet out of the room, taking the door off its hinges in the process, managing to get out of sight before he collapses onto his knees - leaving two Diamant-knee-prints in the solid floors.
Its his fault. All his fault. His orders.
Its his job to protect the team. To make things like this not happen. It should be him in that bed. Except it isn't. Its never him. He's invulnerable - and still can't protect them.
There's voices around him. He's vaguely aware of being violently sick, but nothing more coherent than that.
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