"I--I don't want to be alone." And her voice cracks, because there's a limit of things she can take, and implying that she wants this isolation, this push from everyone she knows, is the final straw. It's not her fault that they made her choose between her life and them. It's not her fault that they expect her to gracefully accept torture and death and misery.

And he's so intent, and it's unnerving, and he's distressed, and that's unnerving too. It's overwhelming, she's overwhelmed with emotions and thoughts that she hasn't had challenged in years, and she was so sure of herself, and Alan--fucking Alan--

She moves before she really realizes she's doing it, arms around him (but careful of the bandages), pulling him into a tight hug, face pressed into his neck. Is it for her comfort, or his? Who knows. Who knows if it even is comforting. "I don't want everyone to hate me." She whispers, pulling her face just far enough back to speak. "I just don't blame them."