He doesn't notice her-- not at first, he's much too busy staring at the scene with an unusually disarmed, defeated kind of expression. There's anger just beneath it, as well; now that he knows how this really played out, the real cause of the deaths, watching it from this point of view is twice as terrible, in a way. He knows how to stop this, but he can't. He just has to watch it happen.

And then someone is taking his hand, and he jumps, as though he'd completely forgotten she was there-- and when he looks at her, he freezes for a long moment. There's no real recognition on his face; he has no idea who this woman is, or why she looks so much like him, but he does know that looking at her is causing him to hurt. His head is aching like he just slammed it against a wall, and it feels like something is squeezing his ribcage so hard that he can barely breathe. His hand shakes slightly in hers as he looks at her, and then down at their hands.

Why does this feel so familiar?

He pulls his hand away from her in a panic, stumbling away, his typical facade of cool completely destroyed by the mix of the scenery, and of her face.

"... uh--" He stammers, trying to find his voice; he's clearly trying to sort out what's going on, what she's doing here. She wasn't at the show. Who is she? "I-- u-uh, yeah, uh, right. Fuck this."