For the pass of a second, Allison almost says yes, against a flicker of tired fondness at the offer, but she was exhausted enough without it really, and by the passing of the second it really doesn't have anything to do with that answer anyway. It's like when Claire would come to their bedroom door, their bed, for a glass of water, for a nightmare, 'because she couldn't sleep,' and it was never those specific things, but whatever had to be pulled out from underneath them.

When she doesn't have to ask what's underneath this. She knows exactly what they both just said,

and that Luther hardly needed to ask if she needed water, or if she was in one piece.
To come to her room and ask either, when they'd already been talking.

Which is maybe why she finally pushes up, with a large, but soundless breath pressing out between her lips. Slides her legs off the bed, and lets her bare feet find the floor and her hands the edge of the bed on either side of her legs. Leaving a sizeable space from her to the end of the bed. Head tilted, expression solemn enough even for the quasi-dark, when she simply tosses it back, as the question it isn't.

Do you?



Water. Whiskey. Something else.
A reason to walk away already.