( The relief he feels at being able to help is short-lived, overtaken by several simultaneous sensations. The look on her face as even he can practically feel the rush of pain taking hold. The wail of agony that comes straight from the belly, up and through the filthy gag in her mouth meant to muffle it. And the overwhelming guilt he feels when she seizes her arm back, realizing that this moment wasn't nearly as black-and-white as it had felt when he first took her arm. )

I'm...I'm sorry.

( A menacing chuckle bubbles up, not nervous laughter—there's not so much as a hint of amusement on his face—but something more sinister. His hands, one simply dirty and the other accidentally smeared with a bit of her fresher blood, clamp over his mouth to silence it. His Shadow savors his remorse, while the Other voice delights in it openly, laughing more at his dismay than her troubled perseverance. )

It's not funny.

( Insisted seemingly to the room at large, but directed fully at the darkness in him. His voice is softer, worried, when he speaks to her, fumbling over another apology before continuing. )

You probably shouldn't do that here. What if we can't stop the blood? ( A beat as he dry swallows. ) What if they just come back and give you a new one?