She's careful when she returns the embrace, keeping the soiled hand away from his skin - not only to avoid making a mess on him but also - perhaps, a bit, not ready to admit to him what it was she had been doing, thinking, worrying. She descends to the floor with him, taken aback slightly at the fever in his touch, the strength behind his arms. It still catches her off-guard, sometimes, them coming together like this - the way their bodies wrack with fear and loss - the way they seek out solace and comfort and confirmation in each other.

But there's no part of her that regrets it.

She would've lived the life she had, lost all she had, a thousand times over if it meant she'd still end up here, with him.

Her clean hand comes down to his shoulder, gently rakes the strands of his hair. She makes quiet, comforting noises - not ones to silence him or demand he stop, but ones meant to soothe. Console.

"I'm here, Cassian .. I'm here" she coos, a phrase that seems to live permanently on her tongue. She knows his fear, knows it more intimately than her own perhaps. Whatever he needs from her, whatever she can provide for him to find a modicum of peace, she will give it - always, without hesitation, without condition. "A nightmare?"