Her face showed some of her dispair, not sure what to do, and not sure how to say she was so sorry for what they'd been unable to do. "I'm sorry," wasn't enough.

Her free hand came over the awkwardness of the crate in her lap, stroking his hair. She'd pull him into another hug, but the dratted crate was preventing her from having a proper lap. It was one of the most ludicrous blocks she'd dealt with lately, let alone when trying to give some portion of comfort to someone important to her.

She couldn't imagine what it'd feel like to lose Phillip, not like this, and not to something like the parasite that had controlled her body. It's that, and not the thoughts and fears and screaming memories of her own skinning, the fever dreams of being sick through June, that comes to mind. She wouldn't be able to let the horrible things that were so personal come out to play. They had no place here.