She doesn't regret it. The look on his face should stop her, should trigger some faint trace of her senses still lost beneath the heaviness of her temper, but it doesn't. Doesn't even come close.

Still, Harry's hand at her shoulder is steadying. Not owing to the motion itself, but the reminder of what his temper had led to in the past. She lets a little vitriol bleed out before she bothers to respond to Charlie's inquiry. Once he makes it clear he isn't budging.

"Jesus, Charlie. You're pissed and you look like shit. Go back inside and check on Elena, and let Harry and I finish our conversation."