Call it an attempt at reclaiming something too far gone to be resurrected. Grasping at straws through memories eroded by sessions spent with a needle in her arm. With Talbot's voice no more than a few inches off though it seemed repulsively close and exceedingly distant all at once. Copper and heat and the sting of bright, bright lights.

Charlie's refusal isn't a catalyst or a brick wall, isn't something that ought to be offensive to her.

Still, she takes it personally. As if evidence itself is the cancer, the cause. "Am I so unappealing to you that you'd rather work than sit in with me?"

It's said with a smile.