The look Ford gives his brother, it's not a sad one, exactly. It's not quite a guilty one either, but if you look at it just right, if you tilt your head and squint - well, maybe he looks a little remorseful, a little like he just disappointed himself somehow.

"I think..." He trails off, his eyes turning back towards the road.

He knows what he thinks about that sort of situation, in the context of Santiago's story. He knows how he feels about Manolin, how he feels about the difficult, brave choice the kid made - but something tells him that's not what they're talking about. That's not what his brother is really asking him, that's not what he actually wants to know.

Ford clears his throat, his eyes darting quickly as he hastily reads a road-sign before they fly right on past it.

"I think there's a gas station up ahead. I'll see if they have any aspirin, maybe get directions to a motel."

He risks a glance over at his brother, hoping that he hasn't noticed how blatantly he dodged his question.

"You, uh. You want anything else while I'm in there? Food, a pack of cigarettes or something?" He asks, despite not wanting to enable his brother's smoking habit. "You still like Lucky Strikes, right?"