"Ah..." Contrary to general belief, Simon is capable of recognizing (some of) his own mistakes. At the very least, Harry Goodsir deserves better from him than flippancy about death, even if flippancy is the way he deals with its presence in his life. He clears his throat. "Speaking of inelegance." Another pause, no less awkward. "I suppose saying I spoke out of turn would be mild at best."

Just as Harry doesn't know him nearly well enough to share his own experiences, Simon isn't comfortable--is never comfortable--mentioning his. The number of bodies he's encountered across the span of his life is a gruesome toll he does his best not to think about, like so many other things. While most of those weren't his own doing, there were exceptions. He hates killing, but if it comes down to a choice between himself, one of his own, or the enemy, well. It's not even a real choice.

For a second, he's at a loss--if this were his own world, he could provide Goodsir with just about anything, legal or illegal, fairly or unfairly acquired. Gifts are an easier form of apology than words.

"I should apologize," he says, as much to himself as to Harry. There's another pause. He eases to his feet, picking up his jacket. "I do. Let me make it up to you."