The possibility of their separation had occurred to him, but Robert had been more relaxed about it since the network the cell phones were connected to had proven somewhat steady. He could text her the codes, if he couldn't make it to her himself, though he was fairly confident that he could make it to her, if given that task. While he wasn't a particularly large man, he was a fast one, and determined. That he knew his way around the Capitol building better than most was a benefit, as well.
Rather than going into all that however, he lets her talk, gauging her reaction to honesty... surprised and pleased that she didn't recoil from him or get angry with him for play-acting the fool. If anything, she seemed to understand.
In the face of that unexpected understanding, forgiveness seemed such a small thing. He runs both hands down her arms, stopping at the elbows.
"I have brothers I've neglected to tell you about," he confesses. Might as well add to the pile while they were tentatively baring souls. "If I thought either of them were in reach... would need or want my assistance... I'm not sure how I would react." The hands slip around her waist, hold tightening briefly in an embrace. His blood family wasn't close, didn't really know how to be close. Possibly the best word to describe them was the ones she'd already used... twisted up... but that didn't mean he was a stranger to loyalty, duty, the confounding love born of circumstantial placement among people you didn't choose but were inextricably bound to on a genetic level.
He'd chosen Adelaide to start his family with... perhaps for deeper reasons than even he was aware of. That thought was strange. Daunting. The Lansing doctrine didn't leave much room for things like fate. Yet, here she stood. A shining, intelligent woman with secrets and suspicions and ulterior motives... a mirror in more ways than he'd known or expected.
"I told you once -- years ago -- that I'm capable of detaching for the sake of the game. That it's a skill needed in what I do. One that I recognize and appreciate in others." He gives her a little squeeze there, a wordless recognition, before letting her go. "But you and Charlie... you aren't part of the game. Not to me. Just remember that. I'm not skilled at this, with the things I can't detach from... family... us... I know that. But I'm trying. I'll try. You don't have to hide from me."
Or run. He doesn't want to say that particular word, though... risk feeling panicked and angry again... so he lets it be implied.