Jekyll found himself being rolled out of the SHIELD hospital and into their small garden area for the patients. His aide was silent, but that suited Henry fine. He found he was more inclined to be left alone with his own thoughts than to take part in awkward, forced conversations.
A quivering hand reached out to carress a rose petal, and he regarded the hand with mild surprise. Was that his hand, so frail and bony, so shaky. Retracting it back onto his lap, he swallowed and forced the thoughts away. He didn’t recognize his face in the mirror every morning, why should he recognize his hand… But what had happened to make him so… So weak? If he had the strength, he thought he could cry.