[ A sound that's almost like a laugh, choked by tears that Rhys has been forcing back since the beginning of this conversation. Is that Beckett, being proud of him?

Rhys regains his composure, bringing his arm up to wipe his eye. Dumpy trills. ]

You couldn't have known what... wh-what was going to happen, so no wallowing in misery, mister.

[ Stitches, though. Or. Stein. ]

T-too... too bad that didn't stick, huh? He actually sent me an apology, like. Like he just inconvenienced me and didn't drag me kicking and screaming into --

[ PHOO. Breathe, man. ]

Did he try that with you? Fiona?