She wants to stay still. She doesn't. She thought she'd learned how to handle difficult emotions like this, but she hasn't. The easier ones, everyday ones, those are the ones she's been practicing -- a smile (albeit in a slightly forced Wednesday Addams kind of way), a frown, the mild pleasure one gets out of simple things like food and a bed. Nothing like what's stabbing her in the gut, dragging her under its swell.

Something in her expression breaks and immediately reforms sharper-edged. She's hard to read on a good day, and this sudden vulnerability (caring about people) is frightening, maybe the only thing that frightens her. She feels, like always, an irrational anger, directed not at him but at nothing; she keeps it gently simmering, but not overwhelming. Anger is one of her weapons.

"You did not." ... technically. He told her not to worry and that he would come back, but it's been months for her, and waiting around for other people to do something isn't good enough. She's not a sit-back-and-wait kind of person. Stay put might have been implied, but Laura breezed right past that implication -- all she saw was the word trap.

She has to know. It's so close, she can smell it, all her instincts are screaming at her to listen -- but she has to know.

Her claws are still out. She could probably gut him from here. "Tell me something the real Remy would know."