He watched her, without stirring much. He doesn't even try to help her reach up (he would have, once, and bumped against her, and laughed about it, too, but it didn't occur to him, now), his eyes dark, and thoughtful.

"There is much I probably knew, once." Quietly. When he handed him his glass, he'd take it with the right hand. The flesh one.

"The biggest problem with finding out what I did is that it's been overlayed by other things, programmed things, so many times that I can't tell what's real and what isn't." His mouth did quirk, slightly, up, at that. "That is why I try observing social interactions, like that party. Quietly, staying as much out of the way as is plausible. It helps sift through the facts. But it's far from either fast or perfect."