[ He can see the way the smile tries to shine through even as she fights it off, and rather than taking her lecture to heart, as he's sure he's meant to be doing, it just encourages him, really. ]

I mean, would it really be my fault, if you're actin' as careless as all that with cutlery? Choppin' like that is surely a sign of a troubled mind.

[ He rocks back, shifting his weigh to one leg and putting on a slightly smug look.

He likes it best when they're like this, trading jokes back and forth. It was a form of conversation they had only briefly brushed against, when he was alive; there hadn't been time or inclination – not on both sides, at least. Faraday had built his life on laughing even when things all went to shit, which wasn't always appreciated.

So it's better like this, he thinks, now that Emma has had time to breathe, now that the storm has passed, for the most part. The clouds still hang around, he knows, but they're not quite so dark anymore. ]

Really, I done you a favor. You oughta be more—

[ careful, is how he meant to finish that, except he tenses when he sees the bit of blood flowering on her apron and unconsciously steps forward. ]

Emma, your hand.