Nick watches Rey as she gathers up his arm, his eyes focusing on the way she carries herself, his metal hand tightening on his shoulder in frustrated defeat. He wants to help her, but there's not much he can do. He can't pick her up and carry her to the clinic, certainly not while he's missing an arm. He doesn't have the medical know-how to treat her himself. Hell, given the only hand he has left is the bare one, he can hardly even use the touch screen on the phone to call someone.

He stifles a sigh. With the way he's still getting prompts to run diagnostics, there's still plenty wrong with him, and he needs to check it out. He's just going to have to trust she'll call someone, and she will be okay. She's a hardy woman, tougher than she seems in some ways. More fragile in others. They're lucky to be alive. If either of them were truly human, they'd probably be dead.

His mouth draws a wide frown across him; he realizes the best way for him to help her now is to help himself. Rey won't get any rest while he's still struggling to stay upright; she'll run herself ragged just trying to make sure he doesn't power down again. It's what he'd do in her shoes, after all.

His eyes flick back to hers. "Okay," he agrees. "I need to go run a couple of scans before my internal clockwork decides to do it for me. You gonna okay for a few minutes?"