[ She speaks, with that sweet confiding look on her face. And Hei realizes, in that calculating part of him: I know that already. But he understands the transactive nature of the conversation. Usually the honesty is manufactured on his part. Here, it's (almost) sincere. He usually has a lockjawed reticence about him, one he's breached by sharing his thoughts with her. She's reciprocating. ]

[ (Except there's something so foolishly innocent about it, as if she's showing him a shiny intimate possession, something she only flashes to the select few. He'd be touched, if he weren't who he is. And that, in itself, is a pity.) ]

[ He doesn't do anything except study her, for a few ticks. But it's not tactical. Instead he's trying to catalog the moment for himself, rather than as leverage to use. ] Look. I don't... [ He presses his fingertips to his eyes. He's unsure what the hell to say. ] I don't talk about certain things. You wouldn't get them unless you were there. I know I check out a lot [ and then the killer robot that's left does terrible things ] but it's not your fault.

[ His own voice sounds so detached to him. But there's something a little unnatural, disjointed, about all of this. Maybe that's inevitable. Part of what Hei's doing here is trying to be kind to her, and that's so new and incongruous to him that it's half-a-performance. Or the first rehearsal in the list of many to come. ]

[ After a beat, his hand reaches out to squeeze hers. Quietly, without meeting her gaze, he repeats, ] None of it is your fault. All right? [ Not just in the past, when it's happened. He means in future moments, when it'll happen again. It's inevitable. ]