"I didn't mean that," he protests, "I just meant--"

James. Darling. Natasha's voice whispers in his memory with an echo from years past, at a time when he'd screwed up so royally that he wasn't entirely sure if she was going to throw him out the window he'd just climbed in to apologize. How did you ever think that was a good idea? You idiot man.

"Okay, maybe I did mean that, but not like that," he tries, carefully, feeling a little like his words are quicksand sliding out from under his feet. "You just look so tired, and--"

He swallows, and tries again.

"When you didn't show up this morning, I was ... worried."