He almost let it go with his usual flippant reply, then realized rather abruptly that she likely wouldn't take kindly to being called a fool right now. Then, too, he worried the words might ring a little too true. Oh, he had absolutely no intention of ending things with her - it hadn't even crossed his mind. His heart hadn't tripped over itself for Lily. Not the way it did for Martha, at any rate. (Shock and a surge of adrenaline were another thing, entirely.) But calling her a fool for loving him might be a self-fulfilling sort of prophecy; perhaps she would find good reason to agree with him.

So he remained silent for a long moment, his right hand finding her left, fingertips absently tracing the ring he found there. When he looked at things from a less emotional standpoint, he was really rather lucky. She was trying to comfort him, when clearly she should be the one in need of reassurance and comfort. She was being reasonable, understanding, and loving. For heaven's sake, she was straddling his lap.

"You started setting your alarm an hour early some six months ago," he offered finally. "Entirely my fault. I tried every day to convince you not to leave, and you thought you'd be clever and let me believe I at least won an hour of your time. I suppose it was a victory, in a way, but I never stopped asking. So that does beg the question: if I want you enough to beg you every day to stay, doesn't it follow that I don't want to leave, myself? As bad as-"

He faltered, chided himself for bringing it up - surely she would push for answers - but plowed right on. "As bad as it was at times, I hope you have the chance to live this last year as I have. Perhaps you'll understand when I say that you have me in a way she never did. We've gone through hell for one another."

He looked rather rueful there, and added, "Literally, if you take the same view of the Barge as I."