The flurry of apologies and explanations coming from Jamie gave Frederick pause, and the seemingly impossible happened. He shut up. All long-winded rambling appeared to be finally spent. At least for the time being. Actually, it had been the fact that Jamie said he considered him a childhood friend that appeased him more than anything else in the end. He remained thoughtful for a few moments, sheepishly following Jamie to the elevator.
"You're right," he finally replied, quite subdued. "You're totally right. I'm sorry." Another pause, and he added, "You're a good guy, Jamie. You always were." He then shut his mouth again and didn't speak, not even when the elevator arrived and he accompanied the pouting Jamie into it. He got out of it in silence. He knew all the posturing and accusations were really masking that vague, hardwired sense of shame he felt over the whole thing. All he had done he'd done out of rebelliousness, like the most hardcore cry for help ever. He'd gotten nothing out of it except for some pretty negative notoriety and endless grief on the family front. He felt like a sham, most days, which was why he went out of his way to talk a good game regarding those misspent years. He heaved a sigh, and even his bright green eyes looked a little dimmer. Or maybe it was the artificial light down in the lower level of the mansion where the infirmary was.