[If he would stop to think it through, reaching for that hand would seem like an obvious poor idea. But it's one of those gestures you automatically react to, so of course he tries to take it, finds his hand meets nothing at all, and somehow loses the balance he'd attained by sitting up halfway and flops back down onto the flour.

Maybe he'll just give up here, arms wide, coughing as the cloud of flour dust rises and then falls again around his face.]

Think most of it's still in there. I hope. Otherwise, Pudding's gonna make me do all the cleaning for a week.

[He'd do it anyway if asked, but.]

Maybe you should come to the lab. Maybe there's something in there we can scan you with. Or maybe Law can figure something out.