It's there, in the dark gold, that he's drowning. Standing perfectly still, without the need to breathe or shift, with impeccable grace in even the way his face tilts to look at hers; drowning.

"It won't help."

It doesn't matter what is in the canister. It doesn't matter if it human. Or synthetic. Or alien. Or anything that Bar could produce. All it will be to him is a new ploy to the always plot for how drive him to Their wants.

"He--" is in a game he can't win "--couldn't comprehend any charity in it now."