[He quietly obeys. There was no way in hell he'd refuse her, no way he'd refuse pretty much anyone here right now. And he quietly, patiently waits for her to speak. Some part of him is worried and guilty he's making her offer something of herself that she doesn't really want to give — that she feels she must, to talk him off some ledge.
He'd hate to make anyone feel like they have to share their stories with him.
But... A little part of him is desperate for that connection.
When she looks to him again, she'll find something sad there — not pity, necessarily, but empathy. Quiet understanding of what it's at least like to... have your memory altered, your mind adjusted, your body used as a tool. He gets it now; god, he never thought he'd ever say such a thing, but he gets it.
no subject
He'd hate to make anyone feel like they have to share their stories with him.
But... A little part of him is desperate for that connection.
When she looks to him again, she'll find something sad there — not pity, necessarily, but empathy. Quiet understanding of what it's at least like to... have your memory altered, your mind adjusted, your body used as a tool. He gets it now; god, he never thought he'd ever say such a thing, but he gets it.
His hand squeezes hers, and he nods weakly.]
... How long did it take?
For you to make your peace?