[There's a part of him, now, that's actually trying, because for gods' sake so is Charles. That does mean something, now that he's not just lashing out, now that the bitterness isn't overflowing so heatedly. He tries to cast a line in turn, tries to reach out a hook of commonality, and he's not sure if Charles takes it or not, the way he starts to speak and stops himself... The apology that follows isn't taking the bait -- it's practically a frakking dismissal -- but it's worth something on its own. A lot, really.]

Thank you.

[It's not exactly warm, but it is sincere. After a second, he drums his fingers against the table and adds:]

I suppose the object lesson here is that no one particularly likes to be told what they are or aren't going to do.