As soon as her short, two words are in front of him, he's shaking his head, but she isn't looking at him anymore and she won't see it, except maybe if she caught it for a second in her peripheral. He still can't quite make his words work, so he tries the new avenue they have available to them-- maybe if he doesn't have to physically form the words with his mouth, he can at least get something out.

It's not.

Which isn't enough, but for a moment, all he can manage. His chin dips toward his chest and he just wishes he had any real capacity for this conversation. But he doesn't. He's not good at this. He doesn't know how to do this, but God, he wants to. He wants to find something to say to... to, what? Help? He can't, he knows he can't, unless he can come up with a way to get them away from here, to get them home so there is at least a spark of a chance that they could fix what they broke. Save the world. Save Claire.

I'm sorry.
He isn't one for platitudes or useless words and he knows it doesn't matter how much he means it-- it won't help. It can't change or fix anything at all. But he still feels like he has to say it. Because he does mean it, no matter how useless it is.

I wish we could fix it. I know that doesn't mean anything, doesn't do any good. This isn't an easy conversation, and every word is slowly, painstakingly chosen. He hesitates before adding, Do you want me to leave you alone? before he manages to make all of this even worse than he already has?