He shook his head as a means of letting her know he didn't mind, dismissing her apology as unnecessary. The grip she had on his hand was strong, and got stronger, but it was not unbearable. And likely nothing compared to what she was experiencing anyway.
When she leaned back he continued to watch her, bringing up a hand and once more brushing some of her long hair back away from her face. He kept his hand against her cheek for a moment. It wasn't cold, but next to her skin it might as well have been icy. "When you're ready we'll go back inside." And face whatever was waiting for them both. For himself? Death by angel, he was picturing. Or maybe Heather would hit him with one of her tools she used to fix things.