[Amy stares after him in something like shock, her mouth hanging open slightly and the contents of her own stomach curdling like an incoming tsunami, before her motor neurons manage to fire up and she's awkwardly sliding off the bed and hobbling after him. She half-trips onto her knees just inside the bathroom door--oh god she's going to have horrible bruises later--and crawls the rest of the way. Then she reaches out to touch his back with a faintly trembling hand, gently smoothing her fingers and then her palm up towards his shoulders.
That's it, then. She isn't going to ask again. Not if it makes him react like this]
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That's it, then. She isn't going to ask again. Not if it makes him react like this]