Her trust — her hope — flickers out. Hap swallows hard, bereft. She has more right than ever to deny him. It will keep him awake, wondering why. The trigger. The core. The rest, he understands. It's his doing.

His hand slides down her back, and off.

"Yes." If that's all she'll accept. "I'll get it ready."

It's difficult to look away from her, as well as a comfort. Apart, with a task ahead of him, he can ground himself, even though a miasma of eager self-recriminations surround him. Hap gets up and leaves the room without another word.

He retrieves a pair of pajama bottoms from his room, then gets underway. After cleaning himself off and dressing in the guest bathroom, he goes about stripping it of anything that could present a danger, an escape, or both. Chemicals, implements, all bath towels but one. The window is a narrow rectangle set near the ceiling. He can't do anything about the glass, or the medicine cabinet mirror, but keep an ear open.

It's not ideal, but Hap gave his word. She can't lock him out, at least. He didn't skip this one when fitting the doors with keypad locks.

Before returning, he checks the state of her on his computer monitor. It grants him insight into whether or not to pause between announcing himself with a knock and opening the door to her room.