Raphael didn't know what to make of her forehead pressing into his hand; initially it was confusion, because if she was tired enough to lean against him then maybe she ought to lay on the floor again. Then it was concern, and from there it only worsened. He first noticed the way her eyelids fluttered, and if that was not enough to cause his eyebrows to knit together in worry then her mutterings and sudden unconsciousness was.

No, no, no, this—this right here, her unmoving in the middle of the shipwreck, where the water was still flowing in (albeit slowly)—was not what he wanted to be dealing with. He found it easier to handle her (physically... maybe mentally) while she was unconscious. He didn't worry about her reacting to the way he touched her body, and he did touch her, first on her shoulders to give her a little shake, then in cupping her chin with his right hand to see if she reacted to the touch, and then he laid her down as gently as he could so he could flip over onto his knees and hover over her.

"Don't do this," he muttered, an edge of panic to his voice has he pinched her chin between his thumb and pointer finger, moving her head back and forth as if suddenly she'd make some movement that conveyed that she was coming back around. "Wake up." His voice was barely a whisper, but it seemed she'd answered him; her eyelids began to flutter, and he stared down at her with wide eyes and parted lips. "Yaxley?" Please, please, please be coherent.

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