He doesn't have the words to answer so he just wraps his arms around her and hugs, gently, and lets her stay huddled there. He doesn't want her to look at it. He doesn't want either of them to stay in this room a minute longer, but their options are so - limited right now.

"I'm sorry," is all he can come up with. "I know, I'm sorry."

It's wrenching. It's - this is from Melanie's head, torn straight out of her nightmares, and it's just been flung into this sealed room with her, an unforgiving reminder that extends beyond the post-apocalyptic dreamscape they're in now. Daniel almost doesn't want her to wake up, because he doesn't want her to have to deal with the memory of this on her own.

"I'm so sorry," he repeats, uselessly, and wishes he could think of something more tangibly consoling, but all he can do is whisper the same hopeless apology.