The water's crashing into the metal of the bulkheads as it funnels in steadily from the weeping gash in the glass. He hooks fingers around the metal of the wheel that's icy to the touch, anchors himself to it even as the current threatens to tear him away.

Not out of the woods yet. Not ever, not really. He'll always be snarled in one thing or another. He braces his feet against the floor with the water sloshing up to his chest and pulls, throwing all of his weight onto the wheel that groans and shrills as it resists his attempts to turn it.

"C'mon," says Tim, whispered desperately from between clenched teeth. "Come on, come on, come on - "

But it won't give and he can't keep straining to crack the damn thing open. He casts about wildly for something, any kind of tool, anything, and with a sick lurch of guilt to his gut his eyes land on Elliot.

He left him behind.

He didn't mean to, really, he didn't, he just assumed he hadn't made it or that they'd been separated but instead of stopping to look he'd just forged mindlessly ahead and he left him. No better than Jay. No better than any of the self-interested bastards here under the sea.

He tightens his grip on the wheel and reaches out, fingers outstretched as far as they can go.

"Grab," he calls. "Come on."