Fresh and acidic, it pulls at her guts, absently, like a hand fondling a cord, but nothing comes. Like a bucket on a dry wellspring. Jo stood watching him, as he set the bowl on on to the bed table, wondering less about his words and more about emptying it, or just waiting, coming back and emptying it in a little while, in case he still wasn't anywhere truly near done.

But, also, about the likelihood of it getting knocked over on the floor, or tipped on the bed in a too frantic rush.

"It's still early," Jo shook. "Not yet dawn even. It's only been four or five hours since--" You died, she doesn't say. She could make herself. She could, but she doesn't want to cut herself on it yet. It's already repeating over and over in her head. Suddenly blurring the boy in this bed with the boy on the floor, head lolled at it's incorrect angle. "I'll find Freya and get your phone back."

She turned for the door, the thing she could make herself do, if not the first yet. (Even when her mind reminded her, she never spoke of Merlin's dying and coming back either. Not to anyone who hadn't been in that room when it happened, ie Balthazar, or on the steps when he came back, ie, Amy. And not ever since.) Jo pressed her hands too hard on the towels, making when give wetly between them, and she grimaced. "Sleep for a little, and I'll bring it up to you."