"We should," she said, moving back to him, taking his hands and pushing him gently toward the bench. The compulsion she felt to simply touch him was overwhelming. Everything about him was more than familiar to the point where every moment engulfed her in some strange sense of deja vu. For the moment, she pushed this aside, tugging him toward the bench to sit down even as she took a seat herself. There was still a niggling desire to do just as he suggested -- to follow Charlie to her apartment and ensure that she was all right. But the thought was dismissed -- had to be dismissed, for sanity's sake. Who followed a stranger to her home when the person had made it entirely clear that she did not want help, even if she needed it. She did notice, however, the figure Charlie had said she'd known following the younger woman, and felt somewhat satisfied by it.
"She'll be fine," she told her new companion. "Her friend has gone to take care of her, I believe."
Now that they were both seated, there was no reason to try to steady him, to maintain contact. Even so, she reached for his hand and took it in hers.
"Are you all right?" she asked, the pang of concern she felt for him sharp and clear. "Do you need help getting back to your room?"