"That I can believe."

He'd hate to think of all the things it could put Clementine through. She probably has enough skeletons in her closet to have a good old skeleton party. They could drum on their ribcages and everything. A skeleton shindig.

"...I guess not."

He's already seen how tough she can be. When she's backed into a corner she'd fight her way out of it no matter what. It's something he deeply admires in her- but he's aware that it means she's probably had...some unfortunate results, sometimes. That she's sometimes fought the wrong people. Or the wrong people have fought her.

He listens to what she has to say, brow furrowed, lips a thin line. He squeezes her hand, his free one carrying on typing regardless- the memory forever marching forward. He understands what she's saying to him, but he can't take that step. A part of his still feels like he deserves this punishment. That he shouldn't be able to get up and walk out of this.

"I- I don't think I can do that," stop punishing himself. "I'm sorry, Clem. I just can't. Not yet."

Maybe not ever, if he were honest.