... Oh, so now he's a hop away from frightened. She notes this with a tilt of her head. So he's sincere. Now... how much does she actually care? A lot more than she's willing to discuss, she realizes. She's grateful for her lack of emotive ability, suddenly. She doesn't want to explain that she's pretty sure that it comes from her own sense of self preservation, and then compound on the subject a hundred time until everyone finally believes it. (Because they're the ones who need convincing. Of course.)

Instead, she makes her way over the desk and onto the arm of the couch, the one nearest to his elbow, and sits her rump down firmly, making a pass over the room before glancing back at him. She's watching the place, all right? Stop that whinging, for fur and claws' sake.