[Somehow, the lack of emotion in her voice serves to calm him; cuts through the miasma and the nausea and brings his mind sharply back a little.]

Th-Thanks. Thanks, Cat.

[Wade's voice is unsteady. He remains leaning against the wall and takes another deep breath of air; lets it out. Another one. Another one. After a few minutes, he straightens. His stomach is still afire with pain and he still feels very sick, but the worst of the attack has passed and his mind is relatively clear. Eventually he turns to her.]

Sorry. [That's the third time he's apologized, and he winces. He's getting bad with this. Canadian instincts coming to the forefront, he supposes. He shakes his head.]

Don't know what's come over me, really. Some kinda weird stomach bug or something. I dunno. It's not gonna mess with me too bad, I promise. Don't worry about it.