[He does look over at her, desperate for literally anything to give this meaning. So lost in his own recycled thought processes he can't see anything else, or break himself out of these patterns. If she didn't come along he'd probably sit here staring at the table until he literally starved to death, missing the texts from Sharky and not reacting to anything around him.]

I..... but....

[There's definitely a protest there. A well thought out one with multiple points about how it absolutely should be him because he's supposed to be the strong one. He's supposed to be an emotionless killer and the second in command of a whole goddamn army and he'd killed so many people back home. Enough that he'd lost count. With no friends or family whatsoever.

But that isn't here. A completely different reality where he has a body count of exactly zero, and quite a few friends. A swapping of fortunes that he apparently hasn't actually acknowledged.]

You don't understand how much of a fuckup I am. I literally can't do anything right other than fucking killing people and apparently I can't even do that.

[You're being so goddamn unfair about it. He is, and he knows it. On some deep level he does know that all of this isn't his fault, that back home the Collapse wasn't because of him, the helicopter crash wasn't his fault, none of it was.

Okay the Jeep crash was a little his fault. Like maybe seventy percent his fault.]

I know I'm being stupid but I can't help it. And he... yeah. He'd be furious with me if I made myself do that. Not cuz I killed him, but I'd be a fucking wreck about it. He'd end up consoling me when he's the one who died.

[He rubs his eyes.]

I'm sorry tho. For freaking you out.