Sulu frowned at the unfinished statement, his hands curling around Ianto's as he felt just how cool they were. He knew what Ianto was thinking; it was hard not to, when parts of him had been thinking the same thing this whole time. Still, that didn't make him believe it any more than usual. "They won't," he said firmly, clasping Ianto's hands tight, "It'll get better."

It had to. Sulu wasn't going to let it stay this way, for Ianto to stay sickly and tired and so cold. He knew that if Ianto did stay like this, he would eventually come to resent Sulu for it. And it would be his fault, too; there would be no denying it. He hadn't thought this through enough to make sure he had all variables accounted for, he had brought Ianto back broken and if he couldn't fix it, it would be his fault. He hated the idea that Ianto would hate him for it, but he knew it would happen. He could only hope that, as it got better, so did Ianto's circulation.

"Besides," he said softly, "You always had cold hands. It's not like I'm afraid of them." Or you. Or anything.