She was quiet too, continuing to watch him. Watching the shadow settle across his face -- that shadow that she didn't quite yet understand, impermeable, unfathomable. Behind it, he was concealed. Hidden.

Silently, she reached for the milk near his elbow. Took a sip . . . and set it back where it was.

"James." The word was soft. "Sometimes we're really going to piss each other off. Make mistakes. I'm sorry in advance. I'm not always the easiest person to be around, and not even the nicest. I tell things as they are, and I don't play with words so they're the easiest to hear. But if I've made a mistake -- and plainly I have -- I need you to tell me what it was. Sometimes I don't know how to be gentle unless I'm told."

Her fingers nudged the glass ever so slightly closer to him. "Talk to me."

Like a command . . . but without any power behind it. A request.