(In his dream, he feels strong arms cradling him, lifting him away from the Raptor's floor. They are the most solid thing he's ever felt; when they pull him closer, the blood and the cold vanishes as if a heavy blanket's dropped over the scene.

I've got you, baby, memory whispers. It's okay.)

Gaeta's still breathing a little too rapidly, but he wraps his arm around his rescuer and tucks his head close, letting the warmth seep into him.

At the foot of the bed, there's a scratchy, creaky noise as the bird -- hearing Gaeta's distress from the other side of the room -- uses beak and talons to haul itself up the side of the bedframe. Once it hits the mattress, it ruffles its feathers and eyes the two men.

Everything okay? Good, everything's okay! Satisfied, it plonks itself down at Gaeta's foot in case any new emergencies arise.