The hand in his tightened, tugged, set it against the gentle rise and fall of a chest, spoke without words, a suggestion more than a command. Tender prompting. An invitation to do what he felt more than what he thought. And again, "Inhale for me," and again, he managed to draw a stuttering breath in, nearly coughing when it caught on the lump in his throat. "And out." So he breathed out. 