I'm mostly surprised you didn't get angrier sooner. I appreciate it happening between the two of us as opposed to with an audience.

[Granted, if this scene had happened in court like in his imagination, she couldn't get her hands on his damn visor.]

And, as I've said before: I haven't lied to you.

[Yet. His voice is softer, now, though, the familiar voice of her mentor, lover, whatever you wanted to call them. Diego Armando is, apparently, alive, and sitting criss-cross applesauce on the floor in front of her.]

I evaded answering, perhaps, but, to my knowledge, I still haven't lied. As to why...

[He clears his throat, and reaches for his coffee. It's still warm. Warm enough, anyway.]

... I remembered what you were like at that age. I wasn't to bring that woman up if I didn't have to. Unless you're not dealing with the panic attacks anymore?

[He was never sure if she'd gotten a handle on them before his poisoning or not.]