[Mitchell is still watching her when he realises that he's got one hand pressed against his chest, a small and unconscious gesture. There is nothing underneath his hand. His glove, against the soft flannel of his shirt, against his t-shirt, against cold skin. No heartbeat, not one that occurs with any regularity to really notice.]

No.

[He drops his hand to his side.]

No, not everything. We're really here. You're really here. All right? I know you are. And I know I am. [It shades a little more bitter: like he could forget.] Maybe there's something false that they've put in your head, whoever did this to you. But it's not all false.

This'll get reversed, Kitty. It always does.