"Mind your tongue!" she shouts back, bristling slightly because he's angry with her, with himself, with the situation, because she still doesn't know where they stand and she's just so damn tired.

She relaxes at some length, when his voice goes small and he covers his face with his hands, feeling guilty and sorry and worried in equal measure.

"You don't have to apologize," she murmurs, head down. One meek little hand reaches out to him, but since his hands are occupied, it settles on his sleeve. "I'm sorry you found out like this. This is what I was tryin' to avoid. You don't have to worry 'bout me, like that. You don't."

She knows he will anyway.

She wants to settle into his arms, bury her face in his chest and hug him close and tell him how sorry she is and just stay there, forever. She wants--craves--the comfort his touch gives her.

But the only change she makes is to tighten her hold on his sleeve and close her eyes.

"Y'don't have to worry. I'm all right."