He can't possibly believe she's got experience that compares. She's from such a different world than he is, she's never been on a battlefield, never seen a war. She's never been a party to the kinds of murder that happen there. He thought he'd put all that behind him, drank it away, but it's been present in his mind ever since Columbia. Is it from running into Slate? From hearing Comstock claim to be a part of that hell and knowing it's a lie?

Reaching out he grabs for her hand. He doesn't know if he's allowed, but he needs some kind of solid connection. Something he can feel through the thudding in his head. "You're a good woman, Emma. I promise, the next time we try this I'll try and be more entertaining." If she even invites him over again, at this point he's not sure he would.