It's okay, La'an. Really-- [ He doesn't argue the fact that she hit him, because, well, she did, but he's not holding it against her. He reaches out to touch the hand she's buried in her lap, running gentle fingers over her fist before he works to pull it up, tucking it toward him, running his fingers across hers to unball it, and then across her palm. ] Just proved that even in your sleep you've got one hell of a right hook.

[ he gives her a smile, which falters when he sees how twisted up she looks, torn between a thousand different emotions he can't quite place that flick through her eyes ]

Sorry, bad joke, wrong time. [ He hedges, still holding her hand ] Hey--

[ a breath, and then an offer: ] Do you want to talk about it?