This would be where anyone else would offer words of consolation, maybe physical contact as a demonstration to remind her she's here, she's alive, she's fine. Except the fear and panic and disbelieving shock of it all jumbles into a static that nulls out all other sounds in the world and he offers nothing at all.

"You're welcome." His own appearance is night and day in comparison; composed and assured to this scruffy, rude, jerkass of a being. The only reason it can't be written off as identical twins is the same recognition goes by. A slight narrowing of gold eyes and the expression turning to slate.

She gets a short bow of the head in response, the laziest of greetings. "Widdowson. Be less distracted."