[Iris flinches; being told that is salt in a wound, wellmeant or not. She squeezes Rogue's hand and the reserves of walled-up guilt and rage writhe briefly in her mind; then she slams the gate back down hard and she's quiet again, once more vague, glassy and diminished.]

That's probably true. It were still me responsibility and I still failed it. Asking 'ow you're doing's a daft question. What can I do, love? 'Ow can I 'elp?