"I have feet," Duo told Kisame dryly, "They work and everything. I'm sure I can manage."
Mostly.
He'd crawl before he asked for a lift.
Duo checked himself over briefly. There was Vera strapped to his back, knives on his arms, knives hidden in his clothes, the last of his capsules tucked away in various pockets, Absinthe still clinging to his shoulder, and -- best of all -- his music clip. Stolen by Kisame with the rest of his stuff, and recently returned. He pulled it out of his back pocket, slipping the band over his wrist. The tiny earpieces went into his ears, invisible unless you knew to look for them, and he flicked the selection to something old and familiar. Quiet enough that he could still hear everything around him.
Duo smiled faintly as the first notes of Quatre's piano filtered into his head, and raised his eyebrows at the pair by the bar. "If you're done hand holding, there's shiny tech waiting."
Tech. Home. He didn't quite allow himself to hope, but something in his chest was definitely warm. Perhaps it was just the sound of Quatre's music. He always had played a decent tune.