There’s a moment, as Marie is looking up at him, the start of a beard growing in again, sheepish and boyish and smiling, and her heart just… lurches in her chest as the realisation of just how much she loves him dawns on her. It almost takes her breath away, as she reaches out and takes his hand, as she stuffs her feet into a pair of slippers. (At this point she’d walk barefoot through the halls if it meant she got to leave.) She’s frustratingly weak as she finally, finally is allowed to get out of bed, to get to her feet, but it’s such a relief to get out of the stupid bed she almost doesn’t care.

She slides her good arm through his, and leans her weight against him. More than she would like. But there’s no avoiding it, if she wants to get out of the infirmary. She’s painfully aware of how exposed the hallways are, and how heavily she’s relying on him to stay standing as he leads the way to his living quarters.

The urge to kiss him, to fling her arms around him and hug him as tightly as she can is intense, but she sits on it. That will keep until they reach his quarters. Until they’re alone. Instead it’s her turn to squeeze his arm gently, as she tilts her head to give him a reassuring smile. “Me too.”