It's a tense few minutes as she darts out the door, his fingers clenched white as he strains to listen for the sound of approaching feet. Anyone might grow curious in her absence, might stop her in the halls.

"Tea sounds," Lovely? No. But it sounds like it might give Beleth something to do, and he doesn't need her hovering for this next part. "Like a plan."

He uncurls his hand, and hesitates a moment, before gripping hers. It's not gentle, but it's not hostile, either. There's no bridging the years and distance between them, but she's trying, and she's trying hard. He's willing to match that much. Poor little songbird.

"If you could just," I don't know, donate a few pints of blood? That'd speed this up. "Keep talking. Tell me something. A story, or your day, or. It doesn't matter what."

He releases her, reaches out for the tongs. This is the part he hates.

"That'd do a lot."