He took her arm, petite in his, gratefully, careful not to snap it between his metal fingers. It was just enough to help him scramble to his knees, then to his feet - he did not rise just yet, too weak, and squatted in the mud as he listened to her in a fog. His breath made his chest rattle.

Sigma blinks once, twice, until he can speak. "...Okay..." It's as though she is the adult and he has become the child, entirely dependent on what she decided to do next. Though his body is unwilling to listen to her advice to stay focused, he comes to a compromise: his sunken-in eye closes, but his metal one whirrs to action, rusting metal groaning in the rain: watching Homura gratefully.