If Blythe had known that Vader was slowly taking her fatigue inside of him, she would have stopped him. She wasn't a fool - she wouldn't heal someone if she didn't think she was capable of being in complete control. But she hadn't told him that. And now, if he told her when she finished, she wouldn't know whether to thank him or to hit him. She would probably do both.
She felt the last of the lungs sew themselves together under the magick of her fingers. Blythe listened to the sound of Vader's breathing, noting with a hint of pride, that the heavy rasping sound he made when he breathed was almost inaudible. With all the practiced patience in her body, she lifted her hands through his chest, mindful of his other organs and bones, removing with them the machines that had been attached to his lungs.
She swallowed, trying to find her voice. "Vader." With that, she showed him the machine in her wet and bloody hands.