*frowns (while he won't pretend he doesn't understand not wanting to get help, he couldn't imagine the revulsion being so great as to compel him to let his life crumble around him first)* As long as it takes. The Fountain should be the least of your concerns right now.
*(it's ridiculous, when you think about it—the notion that this small removal of your responsibilities is what he must content himself with, so long as he cannot prove you're a danger to yourself)*
*starting again, his voice so low as to be almost a whisper* If there is anything I... *but no, you do not want his help (we are not friends)* *with a finality that ends up sounding oddly formal* Well. You know what I mean.