He simply ran.
“Sir?”
The old man opened his eyes.
They were a pale gray-blue.
“I’m all right,” he whispered.
“You're on the floor.”
“I've noticed.”
Ethan almost smiled.
“Can you tell me your name?”
“Harold.”
“Okay, Harold. Don't try to stand yet.”
Ethan grabbed a wheelchair from the nearby assistance area.
Then he heard a voice behind him.
“Carter.”
He turned.
Reeves was walking toward him.
“Get back to your station.”
Ethan looked at the old man.
“He needs help.”
“Medical has been called.”
“He's alone.”
“That's not your responsibility.”
Ethan stared at him.
Then back at Harold.
The old man's hand was still shaking.
“I'm sorry,” Ethan said.
Reeves' expression hardened.
“Carter.”
But Ethan pushed the wheelchair forward.
“I'll only be a minute.”
“Carter!”
Ethan ignored him.
He knelt beside Harold.
“Can you move your legs?”
“Yes.”
“Any pain in your neck?”
“No.”
“Head?”
“No.”