It's probably unfair. She's been so honest with him, confided in him (and he hadn't even had to work that hard on it back home; just a few words from him and she'd spilled her heart out). While Luther still held so much back, unaccustomed to having someone to talk to again, having his best friend back, a partner he can trust in. He's bottled it all up instead. And Allison exposed her worst parts, the things she'd done, her deepest shame— meanwhile, he'd almost died years ago and hadn't even called her. It hadn't made the headlines, not like the usual heroic near-misses that the press reported on the Academy; Reginald had buried it.

Even up to today, Luther had buried it.

"I'm sorry."

He's said it before even realising he was about to say it. Because there's another litany running in circles now: You hypocrite, Luther. You absolute hypocrite. She'd done it. So why couldn't he?

"For... not telling you. I don't... I still don't even really know how to." He exhales. Tries again, although wrenching out more words is, as ever, like squeezing blood from a stone: "That age thing a few weeks ago. It made it worse."