[Perhaps the stiffness in itself is what makes Benedict believe him; it's a moment of bareness, with no amusement, no trace of irony.

And Benedict has learned the hard way that, sometimes, when Byerly says things, he means them.]

I want that. ...for you.

[His response is halting and careful as it has been all the while-- honesty is difficult for Benedict too, in his way. Trust and vulnerability can be misinterpreted, warped, used, the consequences landing on his shoulders.]

I'll help, if I can. If... um. If you tell me how.

[His mouth is dry; this is no offer to write a strongly-worded letter. The foundation of trust have been laid, and he is placing a brick, to see what Byerly will do it.]