Fran sometimes tells him something similar, but it's easier for him to hear it from her; she isn't Hume. She doesn't have the expectations some part of him thinks all Humes do. But he sees his words have somehow made this worse, and that wasn't his intent.

He feels like a child, the way she takes his face and speaks gently, the way she leads him, the way she draws the bath for him. He hates it. Not the support -- the support is...genuinely unbelievable. If he could crawl into the warm safe feeling she gives him and stay, he would. But that feels so selfish. As does enjoying her taking care of him. That isn't fair to her at all. There's nothing left in him, but he doesn't want to be this, dependent and useless.

Even as that guilt churns through him, she hands the bathroom over to him and without thinking he breathes out, "Stay." Gods, a few times having sex where he was encouraged to take and now he can't turn it off. "If you want to." What he wants to do is cover his face in his hands and disappear into the wall, but given that's not an option, he does the next best thing and starts to strip, obscuring his face for a moment so he can remotely get ahold of himself. He should say something else, clarify that he wants to not have the last way he touched her be that, that he doesn't want to be alone, but his exhausted brain can't figure out how to do that without sounding either demanding or pathetic.

There's a moment of discomfort at being naked in front of her again. Fuck this place; he's not letting it take this. He crosses back to her, taking her face gently in his hands and pressing a kiss to her hair, then tipping her chin so he can very gently kiss her lips.

Some of the tension leaves his body, his shoulder settling a hair. He's still himself. She's still here. He can still do right by her.