He halts at the distance she sets, lifting his hands slightly in token of truce. It can't be said that there's nothing threatening in his body language - he's forgotten how to carry himself any other way, how to make himself smaller and softer, the terror is still too near the surface for that - but he's clearly trying not to be.
"I don't - I don't want anything." Is that true? He remembers what one of the women on the network said, and amends, carefully: "I'm not on anyone's side. I thought -"
- I recognized you?
- you needed help?
- you could help me?
He shakes his head a little, and nerves himself to crouch down to her level, not so much for her benefit as for the benefit of passers-by, who might very reasonably take exception to him looming over her. For a moment he has no idea what to say next; and then he does. "How did you get here?"