[Ah.

That earns a startled, tired little laugh out of him, and his hand squeezes Vergilius'.]

Okay, but you won't get rid of this menace, so what's that say about you?

[There's still the hint of dreary grief in him. Not yet gone. How could it be, after all of this? But this does feel more natural.]

I told you, Vergilius. I have a list of reasons. Even if you don't agree with it.