It's not so difficult anymore to understand and share his emotions, now that she's in closer contact with him. Most of it is so familiar; the displacement and anxiety, the feeling of utter loss at their alienation. He bristles at everything because he doesn't know what else to do. And perhaps the other incarnations of his were able to enjoy her humanoid form because there was no alienation, they could simply return to their usual rapport, her form quickly accepted as a mere extension of their bond rather than another expression of the gulf between them.

What he's feeling she understands, but what he's saying is harder to follow. "You really are disturbed by my ability to have friends," she realizes, stepping back a little from their embrace to look up at him in surprise, though keeping her hands on his chest as an additional point of contact. Now she can tell his disgruntlement doesn't stem from possessiveness, as she'd thought and resented, but from the same feeling of uncertainty and being uprooted, of suddenly not knowing his place. How absolutely dreadful. His place is always the same, always here. "My functions have not changed at all, nor have yours," she reassures him. "I am simply extending my horizons, something I think you will appreciate once you have settled in. You are still my pilot and I am still your ship," she finishes, trying a very small but affectionate smile. Though, how is her having friends a role reversal? As this occurs to her, her brow furrows in concern. "Are you alone, back in your universe?"