"Just trying to be useful," Stutely shrugged. He followed Scarlet into the kitchen and dumped his various loads down on the bench, setting the Home Depot bags off to the side to give them room to handle the ice.
Much as he might grouch, this was one job he didn't so much mind accepting a little help with. The other tasks kept his head and his hands occupied, helped stop his mind from drifting too often toward the body in the bathtub and the impotent rage and self-recrimination that accompanied that line of thought. But when you're filling bags of ice to pack around the body of your dead friend – the one who had sworn with a startling fire in his eyes that he'd personally kill anyone who took you away again, only to die with his throat cut in a back alley because you'd failed to do as much for him...
Well. In this instance, Stutely would take the help.