If she wants to switch when she wakes up and has a clean shirt on, I'll carry her.

[Brisk, sensible; he's got more than a foot of height on Iris and also isn't in a wheelchair. It's not that Babs couldn't manage it perfectly well, but it would be literally no effort for him. It's a matter of resource allocation. And right now, Iris doesn't need anything at all. He comes over to Babs instead, reaches out to her idle hands, that familiar twitch, the horror of their emptiness. Holds and squeezes tight.]

I've never even talked to this guy. What do we know?

[It's a soothing tone, low and steady. And it's easier, of course, to frame it as something for his benefit, breaking it down to digestible facts and bringing him up to speed, letting her take a breath and focus on what they can do without telling her easy truths about Iris's resilience that won't help right now or platitudes about going easy on herself it is, in fact, a crisis, and she plainly will do no such thing. Pushing hard doesn't mean she can't get a steady foundation to brace from first; quite the opposite.]