[You know, that's fair. Either way she would have been startled, and she wouldn't put it past herself to open the door on reflex, no matter how long it's been. She really wants to be offended, though. This is rude as hell, bucko. What really stops her pursuit of that conversation is the realization that he hasn't just left it to her for her own comfort, but that...he doesn't want to come in. He doesn't even want her to open the door.

Ryder rests her palms against it and leans to put her eye to the peephole, not that it reveals much. He's still all bundled up.]

...It's perfect. You don't -- you... You're obviously sick. [He sounds like he needs a lung transplant, maybe, but like hell that's happening. Is he going to die? The thought makes her heart ache unexpectedly, and it only hurts more to know that it's more out of her own loneliness than the value of someone else's life. If he died, who would help her? Who would leave her notes and draw her pictures?] You should be resting. You've done more than enough.

[To think, she almost wasted it.]

There's still water here. Even if you don't want to come in, let me bring you some. Okay?