He supposed that answered the question that a larger file existed with everything in it that he had done and all that had been done to him. She would know some of his imprinting, his cues, the way that he could bend to the will of others so easily with a squeeze of a hand on his neck or feet. If she didn't already know, he could tell her, let her have that much control even though she might not want it. Someday she might require it. Maybe he could read the rest of the file, not just the abridged version of it.

She wasn't walking away from him; she would stay. Somehow he felt better about it, knowing she would be there, but he shifted slightly when she sat up. Her anger was not impotent on him, but he knew that he was not worth as much as she was in the eyes of the people, in the eyes of her allies and friends. He had nothing but her; if he disappeared, she still technically had so much to live for.

Yet, just like that, she rose and walked away from even after saying that she wouldn't. He shifted, the shudder of metal springs against his arm as he let her go. He had to to mull over what she spoke, to figure out what he would do and how he would do it. His structure system was very shaky after all, and he needed to figure out what to do. Besides, she probably needed a little space.