"You're not," he insists, even while he's still holding himself back. That's not going to work for either of them anymore and he knows it. His hold on her wrist remains, curling gently around with his thumb on her pulse as if in constant reminder that she's alright. She's going to be fine, actually, right as rain in 72 hours or less. But even remembering that is difficult now, and Frank isn't sure how much of a comfort that really is in any case. He shifts forward suddenly, not stopping until his forehead rests against hers; and shuts his eyes.