[Descole lies on the bed, his stomach down, and his head at the foot, watching her clean. It's all he can do. He knows he can't touch her, and he can't comment on what she's doing, because he knows she just doesn't want to. He can tell she knows what she thinks is wrong.]

[He begins scratching at his hand impulsively as he watches her, worried about her.]

I'm probably more reliable and predictable than he is. I think we can both agree on that.

[It's all he can say, as he continues to scratch irritated. What can he do? It's his younger self all over again, and he knows there isn't anything. So he continues scratching the way he does.]