For just a fleeting instant, Molly almost freezes when he starts pulling her shirt up. It's not that she's worried, that she doesn't trust him — she does, at least inasmuch as she has to — but rather that she's self-conscious in a way she's never had to be before. Even healed, she doesn't look quite the way she used to with her shirt off, bearing several faint scars from the nail gun used on her. The whole point, though, is not to let that stop her. He knows what happened to her, the entire fucking city does, and it's not as if it's enough to get in the way. She lets go of him just long enough to cast her shirt aside, not especially concerned with where it lands, eager to have his hands on more than just her waist.