[As soon as she lets go he's on his feet, backing away to put distance between them, not interested in a physical fight; he's even less so at that laugh and response, and the gesturing. They all set off warning bells, cutting through the anger enough for other emotions to begin tempering it.
So he shakes his head, backing up further, one hand trailing on the bar although even he's not sure if it's to keep him steady or just to make sure it's the only thing behind him.]
I wish I could help you.
[It comes out before he thinks about it, almost surprising himself with it, but it's true. There's so much wrong, and the part of him that wants to help people--the part of him that's much stronger than the temporary flash of rage and hurt--feels for her and wants to do something. But it's just not possible, for so many reasons.]
no subject
So he shakes his head, backing up further, one hand trailing on the bar although even he's not sure if it's to keep him steady or just to make sure it's the only thing behind him.]
I wish I could help you.
[It comes out before he thinks about it, almost surprising himself with it, but it's true. There's so much wrong, and the part of him that wants to help people--the part of him that's much stronger than the temporary flash of rage and hurt--feels for her and wants to do something. But it's just not possible, for so many reasons.]