[Iris is among the people ranged outside the engine room, and she can feel the change; the fog that was blocking her mind has lifted, and her bus has materialised joyously on the deck again. She comes up beside Barbara, visibly sagging with the relief of it, and lays her hand on Barbara's arm. It's all there; the butterfly-wing surface of Barbara's presence, the obscured promise of deeper layers Iris never tries to touch. She speaks quietly, for Barbara alone.]
...I don't either, but we are back where we should be.
[spam]
...I don't either, but we are back where we should be.