Something twists hard in his gut at her words, the wince something that he can't even hide. He's not even trying.

"Jesus Christ."

Doc swallows, mouth suddenly dry and his throat tight, but he manages to shift a little on the bed, to put his arm around her shoulders. He wants to hug her, if she'll let him.



"You don't gotta fight it, Kate," he wipes his thumb along her cheek, over a few stray tracks from earlier tears downstairs. "I ain't gonna think any less of you for bein' upset."

Inside he's angry.

Outside he's concerned.