[It's ridiculously stupid, but the smile he gives her right then makes her want to hug him. She can't, for obvious reasons, but one hand does release its death grip on her mug to extend towards him, searching for his to give it a reassuring squeeze.]

Then don't worry about getting into trouble. Worry about me, stuck in this bed, feeling horrifically guilty on top of the iceball in my chest, okay?

[She means to be flip about it, but she's actually kind of earnest as she watches his face.]

Please, Tig. Not while I'm stuck here...not while I can't protect you.