Kira thinks Frank and Karen have each other, but after Reims... he barely even has a grip on reality, let alone this one. He lets Kira push at him though it has no effect, letting go of the man's wrist at the last possible moment. It isn't the first time he's been told he has bad timing, not even close. There's no pity to be found in his gaze, however, only understanding. He wants Kira to trust him, to tell him what's clearly disturbing him so deeply, but he knows it doesn't work that way. That trust has to be earned, measure by measure, and still people will break it. He had, even, so often; as often as he'd been betrayed probably. Even if the trespasses against him were more severe, if only because it doesn't get worse than two dead kids and your beautiful wife still smiling in a pool of her own gore next to your shared picnic basket.

"Did Karen ever tell you how we met?" he asks suddenly, wrapping his arms around his own knees so he won't feel tempted to reach for Kira again. At least, not until he needs him to. Or asks for it, but that'll be a chilly day in Hell he's sure. No one ever asks for his support, they just get it in an annoying swarm of dad vibes. That is, unless you're Karen Page. Then he can only ever muster to support her when he's already falling apart himself. No wonder she's pissed. "I was shooting at her, in a hospital. Yeah, 'cause she was protecting this scumbag guy I really wanted to kill."

He smiles as he says it, almost wistful. Karen had already blown the lid off the whole murderer thing, and maybe it's because this place only feels half real or the bourbon in his system that erases any reservations he may have had about telling Kira the whole truth. But it's also because he wants the man to trust him, for real. He can't lie to him if he wants that.

"When we saw each other again, I told her I was a sharpshooter, that if I wanted to shoot her, I would have. And that was the truth. She was the only one who believed me. I think she's the only one who ever does, still."