“Yeah, I’m workin’ on it!” He huffs after the third set of rescue breaths, unease balling up tight in his chest. But it isn’t until Clem’s hands thrust into his field of vision and he sees them push frantically against Nick that he snaps out of the bubble of his thoughts, losing focus.

He suspects she hasn’t the muscle to exert the pressure needed to start a grown man’s heart – or stop it – but the smallest possibility is enough to put him on edge. Carlos had suggested that compressions on a beating heart could do damage, but whether it did or it didn’t they just couldn’t take that risk.

“Don’t!" Luke’s voice is tinged with desperation, fingers pressing lightly against her hand. “We don’ need to push -- his heart’s beatin’, it's fine, he jus’—“

‘Just.’ There’s no such thing as ‘just’ when a man lay dying and he recognizes the poor choice of word the moment it slips from his mouth. “--he ain’t breathin’.”

He regrets not having said so from the start what with the poor girl so ready to help. God, does he ever know what it’s like to be fiercely anxious, buzzing with pent-up energy, and yet so powerless to do anything with it. “I need you to keep a close eye on him for me,” He dips, pinching Nick’s nostrils and readying him for another breath. “Tell me if you see him movin’ or breathin’ on his own.”

Wouldn’t hurt to have a pair of extra eyes on this.