[ He sees the hesitation, the way she holds it. This means something, and it means another thing that she gives it up without question.

If he didn't feel so shitty, he might've offered her more than he does. As it is, he takes it in the hand that isn't stained with blood. ]

Thanks. Won't need it long.

[ With that much warning, he puts his other hand on his knee and slides the blade across the back of his forearm, above the edge of his glove. It hurts, more than it should, and he bares his teeth. The cut wells blood, but as he watches, slowly closes. Heals. Disappears, leaving whole skin behind.

Relief rolls over him. He closes his eyes for a second, then holds out the knife to her. ]

Thanks again, kid.