"Just couldn't let us do this the mortal way, could you?" she says under her breath, seeing his lips start to move. There's no heat to it, just a soft, fond near-exasperation. That he'd done it at all feels like another point of proof that he was--again--who he was supposed to be. And it helps, more than it seems anything she or Charlie had managed to do. When she switches out the sodden cloth for another fresh one, the flow of the blood from his side looks slower and more clotted; as disgusting as it is, Rosie takes it all as a sign of hope.

"I know," she says, louder, when he slurs out those two words both edged in pain. "I'm sorry, I know it hurts, Nick, but it's...I think it's getting better." A lock of her hair falls in her face, and she unthinkingly reaches up to smooth it back, leaving a dark streak of blood along her forehead and another slicked through her hair. The feeling of it makes her shudder and her stomach flip again.