He absolutely would have apologized, too, even if it would have been a much less self-flagellating apology than usual. There's too much of this that he needed too desperately for regret to feel like anything but a distant shadow. And Beckett's jab at it dissolves even that.

Enoch laughs, weary, raspy, relieved. His speaking voice is no different. "You say that as if I wouldn't feed you whenever you needed or wanted..." A deep breath, letting more of him float back to cohesion. "You can use my blanket. It's warm."

That means, of course, it won't dry him nearly as well, but that's fine. Enoch has dry clothes out there, after all, and he can only repay him for being there so often, in just the right way at just the right time, by continuing to give. Comfort, companionship, supplies, food.

A more pragmatic course of action might have been to suggest taking the opportunity to wash Beckett's clothes, and let them dry while he bathes, but that would require Enoch to let go of him. He can't bring himself to even dwell on that thought, just yet.