It wasn't often he let himself indulge in such divulging displays of emotion, and he couldn't even remember the last time he'd poured his heart out to someone the way he'd done to her today. The last time might have been to Sam, but the details of that conversation were fuzzy at best, thanks to copious amounts of alcohol. There was no alcohol involved now, and his earlier outbursts left him feeling exposed, every raw emotion out there for the world to see and stomp on.

So it was more because of the vulnerability he felt than any desire not to have her touch him that he sucked in a breath when she put her hand on his wrist. He hated feeling vulnerable. Hated it. "Mmm, good idea," he muttered, turning on the faucet in the kitchen sink then held his hand under it. As he listened to her steps retreating into the bathroom, and the sound of her rummaging around in his medicine cabinet, he stared vacantly down at the water trickling over his hand, and tried to just remember how to breathe again.