"I would do it again, too, if you needed it." She says it quietly, looking down at her hands, trying to not think on how worried and frightened she had been in that night. When she tilts her head up into the light to catch his eyes, there's real concern there, concern borne of friendship and affection. "I would hope you wouldn't need it again."

But she's not so foolish as to expect him to not be who he is. It would be as futile as expecting her father to listen to Branson's ramblings on Socialism and Irish independence and not react.