Expression a little more somber, though there's a faint, sad smile of her own behind it, one of quiet understanding, Molly nods. She doesn't know the details of whatever it is that he went through, but right now, she doesn't think she needs to. Just what he said, and the sense of not being alone in this, is all she really needs.

She reaches over for his hand, not quite so worn out that she can't manage to stretch that far. Besides, though she still feels like shit, the painkillers they've given her really are helping some. "I'm sure I'll take you up on that," she says. It's the sort of thing it's easy to imagine in theory, how awful this is, but the thing she never got before is how lonely it is. People give sympathetic looks, they try to take care of her, but without having been through it, it's impossible to really get. Even if she doesn't talk about it more — and she isn't sure now if she can or will — it helps, having that from him. "Gotta warn you, though, whatever this soap opera is, it's pretty fucking addictive already."