"Jay..." Greta lets her bag drop to the floor and crouches beside him, bracing her hands against his shoulders. What is this? Is he ill, or is the day just catching up with him? Either seems possible; regardless, there's no question of her leaving him, now. The poor lad. Hasn't he been through enough for one day?

She tuts softly, lifting one hand from his shoulder to brush back his hair. "I'm staying," she says, shifting her grip down to his elbow, the better to help him back to his feet. "Can you make it to the couch?" The bed might be more comfortable, but she doesn't think he'd want to lie down in the space so recently vacated by Tim. "Come on," she wheedles gently. "I'll help you."