The convenient thing, is that pale and flushed comes with the weather — Maccready barely bats an eye at her appearance, to him, nothing looks out of the ordinary. He doesn't miss the way her brow arches at his answer, though. Of course, he'd been kind of hoping she'd buy it, but his experiences have usually told him most people don't — they're just too polite to call others on it.

A theory that goes on to be proven once again when she doesn't, instead choosing to insist that he's not being a bother. Her way with words has him snorting a little, the barest trace of humour, short-lived as it is, slipping away for something closer to curiosity as she expresses that she understands what it is he's gone through. Frankly, he wouldn't wish it on his enemies, it's a pity, then, that she knows.

"That's kind, but—" he starts, words trailing off lamely, the intent to turn her down all but dying on his tongue alongside his voice. Maybe it wouldn't be such a terrible idea, if he could at least garner how she apparently managed with her own bout of being in the wrong mind, as it were. The draw of a warm drink isn't too bad, either. He gestures ahead with a hand before stuffing it in his own pocket. "Lead the way, then."