[The look Hank gives him is half careful smile, half doubtful grimace, and his hands rise, they hesitate - and then Hank grips his hands, pulling himself up. The waters of Hank's mind are still nasty, polluted with horror and with a still, trapped sensation, pulled down with something heavy and tired and that shaky feeling isn't really gone yet - but the tsunami's settled down, the waves of bullshit swirling around inside Hank's head aren't as wild as they were. Still, he watches the guy's face close as he stands up and by the time he lets go something tight and twitching and ashamed is starting to settle in.

Hank clears his throat, letting go and looking away.]

Sorry, uh, I don't know what that even-

[Nope, that sentence is a no-go. It's so obviously not true that Hank abandons it and tries to make it into something else.]

I don't know what the fuck happened back in that- that city, but I know the last thing you need after that is uh, dealing with my stupid shit. You didn't have to do that.

[He looks mostly regretful, a little appreciative, and rubs his hands over his hips just to have something to do with them.]