"Admittedly, it gets more confusing after that," he said softly, blinking as he replayed the conversation over in his mind again (as if he'd stopped). He rubbed the back of his wrist against his cheek as he rolled up off his knees and onto his heels, rising from the bed to approach the bench. "But I think - I'm certain, he regrets what happened. And that he's deeply sorry that he hurt you."
"He is." She swallows. "He thinks he can punish himself into being a better person because he doesn't know how to just...make better choices. He could probably use your help there, if...that's what you want...to do?"
Maxwell paused, caught momentarily off guard by the question - namely because it came from her.
"I--" he blinked again, and his head tipped. "I'm not sure he wants anything from me, at the moment, but I will always be here for him, if he needs me."
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She peers up at him.
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"I--" he blinked again, and his head tipped. "I'm not sure he wants anything from me, at the moment, but I will always be here for him, if he needs me."
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"That's good." Light touch, light touch. No meddling, this isn't really her affair. "Did you meet recently?"
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"It was several years ago. At the annual Tourney in the Free Marches."
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"Good." She's done here, really. This is all she needed to establish.
"I've work to do. Thank you for your time." She pushes to her feet.
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"Of course," he replied. "And, for what it's worth, I'm sorry."