Simon drums his fingers on the armrests, clenching and unclenching fists, trying to offload the anxious wrongness in which the Power Suit is, frankly, not at all an improvement over the first one. He gives her the sidiest incandescent side-eye. “That’s easy for you to say,” he retorts, because here it fucking comes, “you got the human body.”

This is a totally emotionally transparent excuse for a segue, and the least productive thing they could possibly be talking about, not that he cares any more than usual. The look Catherine gives him is still grounding, and he slumps back in his seat, like a marionette with its strings cut, in something like acceptance. After all that, Simon still trusts her implicitly - when she says they’re safe; when she says she knows where to go; when she says there are no quests on the robot-afterlife bounty board right now.