"You didn't scare me," she lies to him about that, too, her brows furrowing. "I'm just so glad you're alright," she whispered, and she stares at him for a long moment - she'd been terrified; terrified that her hands would shake and she'd make a mistake, that she'd cut the wrong thing, that the knife would slip.

She wasn't going to tell him that she operated on him. Not now. Not when she felt like she was going to fly apart into a million pieces, and she had to be here for him. "You'll be fine. Don't worry."