Lúka stared down at the way her fingers intertwined with his, the way their minds would if he did as she proposed. It was an apt metaphor. Done gently, such a melding of minds could be painless, pleasant even, a willing symmetry letting his mind touch hers without harm. But that wasn't what the Doctor had requested: not completely. A Knight like Vissica would not be gentle. Her mind would have claws, and if Ana made hers a closed fist, Vissica would break fingers in order to access the interlacement she sought. If Anastasia wished to be prepared, he would be forced to provide at least some fraction of that unpleasant experience.

Anastasia's words carried weight, her assurances meaningful to him; and yet they came as the words of someone who didn't understand. It would not simply be remembered pain and sorrow, it would be relived. All the trust, all the willingness in the world, would not help them if Lúka stumbled across something too painful for Anastasia to bear. If she couldn't help herself, if she couldn't stop her minds urges to fight back? The harm, the damage, the broken trust -

His other hand came to rest atop the two that Ana had interlaced. His words were gentle, carrying all the sincerity that a matter such as this deserved.

"I will have to think about it?"

It sounded like a feeble response, too formulaic a string of words to convey just how much weight fell behind those words. He met Ana's gaze, forcing as much honesty as he could muster, allowing his barriers to descend just long enough for her to truly see the extent of his conflict.

"But please know, it is not the prospect of seeing you vulnerable that gives me pause: it is the prospect of being the one responsible for causing you harm. That is not something I ever wish to do, and I do not know if I would be able to forgive myself if I learned that I had."