Peter felt completely wrung out emotionally, and looking up at Ginger standing over him, her face, her eyes... he couldn’t read them. She had to still be completely furious and hurt and scared and confused; there was no getting around that. He couldn’t do anything for her, except to get her to the shelter of the complex, to the simple shower and bed she'd requested.
Taking a deep breath to calm himself, he stood up again. He fidgeted, feeling like a miserable schoolboy for a moment, uncertain if he should offer her his hand again. After a moment, he just started walking, leaving his hand free if she wanted to take it, but not pushing for the contact that he still secretly wanted. The watchfulness from earlier didn't seem so important now, which was foolhardy, but Peter just couldn't deal with it right now. He kept his face downcast, eyes on the pavement, except to steal sideways glances to make sure she was still walking with him.