John looks at her again, doesn't bother to hide the fact that he's looking at her, and he feels nauseated, a wave of it rolling over him, a result of the hypothermia, but he fights that down and tries not to let it show. It's more important he see her and while, in any other circumstance, he thinks he might have been able to asses her in seconds flat, he knows he's not at his best.

He hasn't seen or heard Carter since arriving here, not past that one whispered sentence, a reminder that he's dying, but it's still hard to know what to trust in this moment.

It would be a mistake to underestimate her based on her stature. She's tall, but slim, but John has seen smaller women do incredibly powerful things and so when she tells him she won't let it happen, that she'll make sure of it, he nods. There's still no deception in her gaze, in her voice, and he wants to believe her.

He's tired now like he hasn't been in a very long time and it may be against his nature, but he wants to believe her.

"Alright," he agrees. Carter would be proud of him. He has to trust someone sometime. "Thank you."