"Hey, shh, it's alright." Clara lays a hand on Bobbie's shoulder, trying to make her voice calm. "Why don't you sit down? I can check your legs from there."

She gestures to the closest comfortable surface, gentle and pleading. There's a prickling fear in her stomach, but she can't let it show. She has to believe Bobbie is going to be alright, or else Bobbie won't believe that.

If only basic crisis tactics worked on adult marines.