There is no reason you cannot fix it anyway. [her shoulder is not the subject at hand, but as always, it's easier to pretend to focus on something else than himself.]

I know that. [maybe she is tired of taking care of him in those situations too. it probably puts too much on her. he feels safe enough to trust her with it, but maybe it's becoming tedious. tiring. as exhausting for her as it is for him. she did flee.]

[he looks away to glare at the floor.] I thought I deserved it. That it was a price to this second chance I had to manage.

[the biggest block to fixing himself: feeling like he had to just suffer through it. a physical consequence.] But I died. Why should that not be enough? What else could any galaxy possibly want from me?