K keeps wishing there were something he could do, some caseload to work on, some patrol shift to pick up or evidence to catalogue. Instead he's just sitting here waiting, hurting, with nothing he can do to influence it either way.

The kiss is welcome, in a way he would be shocked by himself for feeling only a few months ago. He's stroking his thumb along the inside of Jesus's wrist when he says that though, and he immediately focuses on something he might be able to actually do like a lifeline.

"Tell me what you need," he says without hesitation.