It's a relief when the other Miles lets go of his collar, but Miles hasn't really cooled down yet, still in a defensive snarl. Defensive against himself -- well, that one's not even new, really. Yeah, he'd panicked, panicked badly, tried to drown himself in denial, but -- God. He wants to be done, but he's not. Miles glowers at his older self, leaning heavily on his stick.

"What happened?" He doesn't even know how to begin to answer that question, but he's at least tactical enough not to lead with It's not. The other Miles is already acting like a spooked horse. A drunk, angry spooked horse. Fuck's sake.

"I was in close quarters with Bel, stranded in a really fucking strange situation, and they took it all in stride, every step of the way. Clark was a good friend, someone I really engaged with, and then he sat and watched me die. And I still had my head up my ass over it." He shakes his head and pushes the other Miles's hand away from him. "What happened is that for once I was forced to stop and think about what I was actually afraid of."