Febby worked her magic (literally, in this case) and was done before he managed to turn around to check for himself. The kiss to his shoulder, while not completely reassuring, did help him relax for the moment. An only child with only a father - and a distant one at that - meant his experience with women in his home was nearly nonexistent, and even then he didn't expect that moment men were well-educated in the field of women's health. He hadn't been sure whether she needed a specific item or article of clothing or something just to stop the bleeding.

(Surely women could bleed out, couldn't they? He supposed he was fortunate not to have woken up to a very bloody, very dead Febby - he'd have a hard time explaining that to his staff, her family, and the investigative team. The longer he thought about it, the quicker the urge to have her stay faded away.)

"Oh, go ahead," he said, his face contorted with concern. "Five minutes, ten minutes, an hour - as long as you need to not die," he added with a nervous chuckle, but a chuckle nonetheless.

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