She more than makes up for it with a light pat on the rear as he hobbles past, turning the latch to lock it while he gains a head start. By the time the lift hits their floor she's behind him, and by the time the doors slide open in the lobby she's in front, aiming to clear a path for him to follow less out of concern than it is practicality: anyone skirting out of her way is less likely to clip the edge of his crutches.

And the snowfall's picking up once they're well beyond the first few steps outside, tugging out the realization that the less time they take getting their errands run, the less likely the chances are of Charlie losing a toe or two thanks to a cast with little in the way of insulation.

"How far off is the shop again?" She asks, as if she doesn't already know. The start of applying a little pressure to spur them on at a quicker pace-- without breaking his neck on the ice.