It didn't really surprise Amos all that much, the reaction to his concern, the fact that hardly anyone seemed to understand what he was saying. Rogue was right, he wasn't very good at explaining himself, but he used the words and the images he knew and he couldn't really do any better than that. He tried and it all came out muddled and stupid and just made him feel like he was talking in circles. Better, he thought, to just quit before he made himself any more upset about it. But at least some folks understood some parts of it, the important parts. He knew enough of that by how people like Regina responded, the little pieces of advice and words of comfort left behind. He was grateful for those.
And he was grateful for her stories, too, that she kept making time for him. She had plenty else to do and she didn't have to keep doing this, but she did. There was some strange kind of understanding between them, something he didn't know how to describe either. Nice maybe wasn't the word for it, but it was a good thing, he knew that. He was just bad with all of this, in general, still. Despite that, he knew that this conversation was going to last a lot longer than one cup of tea, so he brought the whole pot down with him, thinking nothing of carrying it down from Johanna's room wrapped in a faded scarf to keep from burning his hand on the glass while the scent of Assam and roses wafted around him, two cups in his other hand.
He found Regina easily enough and sat down across from her with a half-cocked smile, unwrapping the pot and shoving the scarf safely back down in his pocket. "Didn't know if you'd want some too," he said as he settled in. "So used to doing everything for a whole crew that it's taking a while to adjust to being on my own again. Been a while." Five years, give or take. His last crew before the Cant was usually pretty alright, at least his captain was. She took good care of him too. Kept him out of trouble. Or got him into the right kind of trouble, anyway.