[He doesn't answer right away, instead gazing red-eyed down in the direction of his feet as one hand rubs uneasily at one of his forearms. A tick of anxiety.

Delmar doesn't know what to say. He doesn't have the mental acuity or emotional intelligence for this, to grapple with the loss of two of the only people who have ever cared about him, to defend the actions of another, and to pay due appreciation to the fears and hurts of yet another. And all he knows is in one fell swoop he's managing to do all of these things horribly wrong.]

I'm sorry

[He whispers it, not moving from where he now rigidly sits on the edge of the couch. Spine stock straight and head dropped forward so his chin almost rests against his chest]