Ford hesitated, unsure how to answer. He didn't know that there was an answer. It just seemed like the only thing he could do, given the circumstances. She was distraught. What was his alternative, just leaving her to spiral in anxieties? Watch her cry? It was inconceivable. He cared about her. Maybe what he was feeling was all fake, but — but fake wasn't the right word for it, because he was feeling these things, and they'd been driving his behavior all night. Maybe these feelings were baseless, but they were as real in this moment as though he'd loved her for months. He could not wash his hands of the situation if it meant someone he cared about was going to get hurt. And this... was the sort of situation in which someone could certainly get hurt.

"Nevermind why," he mumbled, and squeezed her hands back (the way his heart had skipped a beat when she'd increased the pressure — smitten, he was done for). Periodically throughout the conversation tonight he had considered leaning towards some revelation of how he was feeling about her, either subtly or explicitly, but he had no intention of saying anything now. There was no chance of her returning his feelings, so it would only complicate things to tell her. She'd pull back, maybe disconnect from him entirely and run off, and then he wouldn't be able to take care of her through whatever came next.

"Did this just come on you tonight?" he asked. "All suddenly? Or have you been thinking about it a long time?"

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