You're right. I am filth, and there is no penance.

[there isn't any sense of self-deprecation in that, though. he's echoing it like it's just a proven fact. like there isn't any way to debunk it. like it's spoken in red, branded on his soul for him to be judged by whatever higher deity weighs the intrinsic rightfulness of his actions]

. . . what part of that would give you satisfaction, Erika? The part where I'd be re-killing the people I care about? Or the part where you know I won't do it, so you can assume my refusal means that I'm not being sincere?

[he lets out a breath, trying to stay firm, because she deserves the chance to say all of this to him. even though he's so so tired]

I did something unspeakable. You didn't deserve. . . any of that. I brought you pain and suffering because I wanted so. . . badly to save everyone here, as selfish as. . . that thought was. But that motive don't excuse my actions. I owe you the world and the moon and the stars and everything in between as repayment, and none of that would ever be able to make up for what I did.

But you?

You don't owe me forgiveness. You don't. . . owe me anything.