Now he's getting worked up again, and Rousseau exhales a slow breath through her nose, almost as if she hopes that he'll do the same. Deep, slow breaths.

"Jefferson," she says, in a voice that distinctly reads, 'let's not get ahead of ourselves'. "I understand how scary this must be for you, but if magic can take you home, I'm not sure that working yourself up is going to help it do that." She pulls into the parking lot to the northeast of the hospital, the closest to the stairs leading up to her office. "Can you tell me how it works? Your magic. We might be able to figure this out together." And she parks, but makes no move to get out just yet.