( It isn't pity— Angela doesn't pity people. Any doctor worth their salt doesn't pity. You empathize to understand someone's pain and then you fix it as best you can, and set them on the right path with the right tools to heal. That's all there was to it. He swats her hand back and she flinches, fingertips curling back but hand still hovering.

She doesn't understand the insistence. That they shouldn't be here. They'd be dead otherwise, wouldn't they? This was far better. There's the eventual promise that they'll be up and walking about again, one day. That's certainly better than the alternative to her.

That hovering hand finally falls when she's mentioning the evac and he's backing away from her so suddenly, and her expression goes from confusion to apologetic. Maybe just a tad hurt, not that he'd know her well enough to speak to how it went against her nature to do whatever it is he thinks she's going to. )

Detective, I've just woken up here the same as you. And it is certainly not my job to force anyone along for anything. I just wanted to let you know what was going on, and that I would be around if you needed it. Now that I'm aware it may be an issue.

That's all. We don't know what's expected of us up here, or if they need to vent the station— or why the alarms are even going off. Something about the stars disappearing.