There's an odd sort of comfort in it, Russell's hand against hers, like a reminder that he's still here in spite of everything she's just told him. She has no reason to expect anything else, of course, especially given everything else the two of them have weathered, the things he's stood by her through, but like this, worn out and incapable of burying any vulnerability, she can't help the irrational worries she finds herself with, or the thought that this could somehow be a reflection on her. She hasn't got much strength left in her, and it takes a good deal of what remains not to instinctively flinch away at any contact, but a moment later, drawing in a deep breath to steel herself, she turns her hand under his, using what little energy she can spare to curl her fingers around his, holding on tight, as if it might help her hold herself together.

"Andrea kicked him again," she says, voice soft, distant, though she holds his gaze this time. "It... it was just enough to stall him, even for a minute. He hit her with the gun, and I — I tried to pull away. I knew I wasn't going to get very far, but it was something, you know?" In her certainty, that knowing she was about to die, every possible second she could spare had seemed worth it, but she doesn't know how to say that without saying what Russell already knows about her, and she sure as fuck doesn't want that on the record. "And then I had a few seconds, so I said a Hail Mary. It was the first thing I could think of."

She pauses, draws in a deep breath. "Then Lisbeth hit him. I hadn't even seen her come in. I still don't know how she did."