| closed / complete |
CHARACTERS: Igraine (forgivenot) & Michael (archistrategos)
DATE/TIME: Earlier afternoon
LOCATION: Igraine's apartment
RATING: Sooo tame.
WARNINGS: Angst. People not taking care of themselves.
SUMMARY: Someone learns how to be a better sister, and a friend.
Steam wafted up from the peppermint tea that Igraine had prepared for herself, but the drink was unattended, the mug still in her hands. She was lost in thought, her mind fleeing from work to family and back. Her mind still hadn't wrapped around the fact that her brother was an archangel. Knowing herself, it would take a while to.
The only person who she figured would know better than her was Jude, who she was starting to have suspicions about herself. Had Daniel ever confessed to Jude about being an angel? Learning so would ruin her heart, as she had hoped over the years of being a big sister to Daniel, he could've told her things he'd confessed to his best friend.
Though not jealous of Jude, as she knew her brother needed and deserved a good friend like him, she did wonder just how close their relationship ran. She patiently waited in the kitchen, back pressed into the counter, anticipating Jude's entrance in a couple of minutes at most.
He'd realized how vulnerable he was to the stress and desperate uncertainty that was part of being human. It took him back to the childhood memories of his friend; and today, just as yesterday, Gabriel was just the little boy named Daniel. He was never unaware of the younger angel's defenselessness, but even in retrospect, he wouldn't have fathomed something like this happening. And it left him guilty. So guilty. That he, perhaps, had his responsibility in this unfortunate event -- something which a friend (not an angel, a friend) would have prevented.
Standing underneath the cover of a balcony, he'd watched the same window frame for the past hour. And he'd contemplated whether he would visit. If he did, it would seem more like intruding; at least, more now than it would have years ago. Still, Leola perhaps sought answers. And he wouldn't hold them from her. In her place, he would question himself as her brother's keeper. And if the world as he'd once seen it in his childhood naivety had stayed the same, he'd miss her terribly now. Miss her and love her, peacefully and distantly, as a friend of a brother could.
But he was Michael. And it was as Michael that he came to her door and knocked. He carried with him a duffel bag filled with Gabriel's clothes and possessions; in his other hand, a gift. Consolation. Boxes of flavored tea packages.
Igraine was moving automatically toward the front door, not wanting her slumbering brother to be woken by another knock. Her tea sloshed quietly in her hand on the journey there, and careful to check the peephole before daring to open the door (it was Jude, no surprise), the former queen undid the locks and pulled the front door open.
She offered a weak, yet genuine, smile. There had been too many in the last several days. "Hi Jude," was her greeting, followed by a soft step toward him and a friendly kiss to his cheek. His presence here, as always, was highly appreciated.
Hearing a soft rustle from within, Michael gently laid both gift and duffel bag along the wall and stepped out of the way of the swinging door. His eyes adjusted slowly to the dimmer lighting inside, but he didn't need to see her (he heard her) to understand that she was drained, emptied, and heartbroken.
He empathized with her. In every way, he could comprehend. And it was on his mind to ask after Gabriel. But more importantly, he knew he had to ask --
"How are you?"
He wound an arm around her back. Once his hand came to rest against the curve of her side, he pulled her in softly. Soothingly. It seemed he was doing more of that these days, and more frequently. Her chaste kiss was returned with a smile and a look of concern.
His affection was well received with another smile, one that was tired and seemed to age Igraine. Her one hand came to press against Michael's shoulder, resting there. "Exhausted," she murmured, not seeing the need to form a lie about her state of mind and body. "But it's good to see you. Did you bring something for Danny?"
No, for Gabriel. Daniel. Gabriel. Could he ever be Gabriel when it was Daniel she'd grown up with? She tightened her hand around the mug of tea in her hand.
"Please rest. Take care of yourself first." He replied, lifting his hand to tuck a stray lock of her blonde hair. A soft pause as he noted the brief whitening of her knuckles against the mug. Was it something he said? Something she wanted to say? Michael turned to retrieve both bags and brought them inside.
"It's Danny's clothes. His things. He'll need them while he stays with you --"
Michael lightly tapped his finger against the smooth edge of her shelf. "I've been thinking."
Her cheeks stayed the same shade of pale even after his affectionate gesture, as she was already used to his touches and the warmth of his skin that she thought little of it. This was Jude. He was her brother's closest friend, the boy she'd known since grade school. Not once did her mind consider any of his touches inappropriate, as they were always gentle and comforting -- like that of a friend.
Igraine wrapped both hands around the mug, seeking warmth for her chilled fingertips. "About?"
To the warmth-seeking gesture, Michael leaned forward and rubbed her arm vigorously. This followed by a soft laugh; it wasn't enough comfort, but he couldn't let her, let them, dwell on sadness for too long. Pulling Gabriel's duffel bag to a chair, he unzipped and unpacked some of the contents.
"You and Danny. This city. How are you doing on your own?"
A sigh. Michael sank quietly against the couch arm, watching the younger angel's troubled breaths.
Something of a half-smile was offered, but it faltered at the sight of her brother on the couch. "We're doing alright. I've been cutting hours at work so I can be with him as much as I can," Igraine explained, coming to a stop right by Gabriel's head. Setting the tea upon the coffee table, she gingerly lowered herself down to her knees, one hand coming to rest upon her sleeping brother's hair.
"I've been living on my own for several years. Taking care of Danny is easy enough for me, but Carmine has been coming over as well."
And briefly she wondered: was Carmine an angel, too? Was Jude?
"There's a place several hours from here." He began. And then another pause, and a stop. Michael slowly leaned back, gripping the edge of the couch. He couldn't get ahead of himself. For now, he would trust. And believe. Have faith in the goodness and mercy of the Spirit. Still, wasn't it too much to ask of this good woman? The childhood sister of his friend. Wasn't it too much to ask her to endure in this city with two angels who could possibly put her in danger now? Especially during the times when himself and Uriel couldn't be there.
Leola, sweet Leola. But he did miss her, in his own way. "I wanted to make sure you're all right. Look at you now." And if she looked like this any longer (this drained, this far gone), he wouldn't be able to tolerate the burden he'd forced upon her. It was a delicate subject. "Taking care of him -- what about yourself? Listen. Anything you need, anything I could give."
He would give in a heartbeat. And not from his place as Michael. But as a human being.
After a quiet breath, "How has he been sleeping?"
"I take care of myself the best that I can. I have to." But Igraine's words weren't defensive, only assuring. As assuring as she could manage. "His pain medication has been keeping him asleep most of the day. It makes him drowsy," she carried on, stroking her brother's hair so very softly, so as not to wake him. "But he sleeps well. Never alone, though. I don't allow it."
Fingers smoothed across Gabriel's temples, gentle and loving. Even asleep, he needed that care, that adoration that came across in all of her touches, in the way she gaze upon him. He was her life, her best friend. She loved him beyond any three-worded admissions.
But it took its toll on her, going between work and her brother. Her golden hair, folded into a loose braid, was coming undone, tendrils of blonde framing her face. Her eyes were tired, her movements. Exhausted, but determined. Determined to keep him safe and loved.
"Taking care of two, with one bedridden, won't be easy. And I can't imagine that Daniel will take care of himself any time soon. Not when the pain went beyond the marks." Michael studied her patiently, an arm brought to lean over the corner of the couch like a protective posture. Seeing her like this was bittersweet: suffering, but there was a kindness to it, and a sense of comfort. Something he'd cherished once from above and afar. But it was also a personal heartache.
He leaned deeper and caught her hand, steadied it. "I understand. I know, and I understand." He murmured. "And what I want is for you to be there for him. Because he needs you and loves you. And because it'll hurt you to think of Daniel waking up to realize that it's not his sister he sees when he wants the comfort of his childhood protector. What I wish to say, and this isn't charity, Leola. Never charity. I would support you for as long as you need. And Carmine, doubtlessly."
Gabriel needed time and patience, but even more, he was wont to believe that Leola had her heart on his brother -- her brother -- and being torn away from him for work, it seemed, this would slowly eat her away. He would watch her exhaust herself into the ground. She was doing it even now.
His words were slowly sinking in, and rather than gazing upon Michael, Igraine watched her younger brother with concern written into her brow. There was so much, yet so little so could do for him. Touches and words could both break and heal. More than anything, she desperately wanted to erase the past, to give him back his peace, but such a thing was impossible: she knew.
She squeezed his hand as she lost herself in thought, and realizing it might have been too tight, she relaxed her grip.
"What should I do, Jude?" The former queen spoke in a murmur.
As though biding his time, Michael waited and watched Gabriel take several shallow breaths before he continued. "Focus on caring for Daniel and yourself," He replied, "and let me worry about everything else." The tight squeeze (understandably tight) was returned with a brush of his thumb across her fingers: affirmation that he believed it would get better, that things would right themselves.
"Over the weekend, when I'm not working, we can drive Daniel to the countryside and take him to the fair. It might be good for us." Like when they were children.
Something of a nostalgic smile crossed her lips. "The fair," she mirrored back, raking her gaze over the rise and fall of her brother's healing chest. The smile wavered so very slightly. "I'd like that. I know Danny would as well."
Saying his name like that felt natural, but there was still the inclination to call him by his true name. But what would that mean for them? She was always Leola, and he always Daniel. To be Igraine and Gabriel would be too surreal. Yet she had to know. There were so many questions that needed answering.
"Jude..." A brief pause. "About Danny. Has he ever..." God above, how to phrase this? "Has he ever told you? About him?"
That was about as specific as she'd allow herself right then.
"A day in the sun will be good for him. And for you." He swept his hand to brush a flicker of dust that had settled against Gabriel's shoulder. "Tomorrow, or when he wakes -- we'll ask him what he thinks."
The next question she posed his way came as a bit of a stretch. He thoughtfully listened, examined her expression. And he considered the subtleties of her words.
"About his job?" He began. And then--
Ah. "About his origins? His identity, you mean?"
He knew. Jude knew, and Igraine hadn't. So many questions fluttered around in her head restlessly: how long had he known? Why had Danny confided in Jude first before her? Was Jude an angel as well or was she merely jumping to conclusions she didn't want to voice for fear of being judgmental?
She adjusted her knees into the carpet, fingers grasping at the hem of her dress. Her next words were difficult to form. "Yes, about his identity." There was a pregnant pause. "He's told me he's Gabriel."
At once, Michael realized that this was a fragile question. And leaving the arm of the couch, he lowered himself to his knee -- to her level. His lips tightened pensively at the sight of her grasping the thin fabric. He was a truthful man, but cruelty he could never do. And there was a catching point. Right here. He didn't know enough about when Gabriel told her, or why. Being human, he also couldn't assume what Leola wished to understand.
She was asking, but it was a difficult time, a difficult place. He threaded a finger against the windsor knot and drew his tie loose. An instinctive motion. "He might have implied once. Some time ago."
That answered a couple of questions. Igraine tightened her fingers into the emerald folds of her dress, her eyes remaining on her brother. "Some time ago," she parroted back in a murmur, soon reaching up with that first hand to press it to her temple. Her cheekbone. Hurt had stained her tone, saturating it to the brim. Her natural inclination to be selfish reassured her it was only Daniel's fault for not telling her earlier, but she knew, knew just how difficult it was to tell your favorite sibling they were someone else.
Tears threatened to line across her lashes, but she blinked them away.
So selfish, Igraine. Always so selfish.
It was enough. Too much. Michael pressed a palm against the back of her neck, fingers halfway entwined in her hair. "Listen to me," he whispered, "there's nothing that he held back from you. Nothing. And the fact that he understood he was Gabriel changed nothing. He doesn't make that kind of distinction. Not with you, not with me, not with anyone."
A soft movement of his hand laced his fingers further through the blonde strands. Inhaling a breath, and positioning himself near awkwardly in the small space there was to move in, he'd pulled her close enough for warmth. Close enough for the reassurance he could manage for the time being.
Igraine remained speechless as she absorbed his words, took in their meaning. While they must have rung true -- Jude never lied to her, as far as she was aware -- still she wished she'd known earlier. That day with the dove -- she'd been there. How long had it taken for him to remember?
It didn't matter as Jude pulled her in close. She settled her cheek on her friend's shoulder, nose nearly brushing against the lapel of his shirt. The position was both awkward yet comfortable, especially considering the warmth of his body. His body was a veritable heater.
She took in a deep breath, but her voice was soft, quiet as she spoke.
"Are you an archangel as well, Jude?"
Michael wrapped his arms around her waist and left a brief kiss against her hair. Allowing silence to sink during the calm, his weight settled slowly against the side of the couch cushion as his shoulders untensed.
"Just breathe," he replied, "and sleep if you need to."
Not to deliberately evade the question. He didn't wish to press on and distress her. Make her feel as though she was being held by a stranger. She would have to know eventually. But for her, there was time to explain.
DATE/TIME: Earlier afternoon
LOCATION: Igraine's apartment
RATING: Sooo tame.
WARNINGS: Angst. People not taking care of themselves.
SUMMARY: Someone learns how to be a better sister, and a friend.
Steam wafted up from the peppermint tea that Igraine had prepared for herself, but the drink was unattended, the mug still in her hands. She was lost in thought, her mind fleeing from work to family and back. Her mind still hadn't wrapped around the fact that her brother was an archangel. Knowing herself, it would take a while to.
The only person who she figured would know better than her was Jude, who she was starting to have suspicions about herself. Had Daniel ever confessed to Jude about being an angel? Learning so would ruin her heart, as she had hoped over the years of being a big sister to Daniel, he could've told her things he'd confessed to his best friend.
Though not jealous of Jude, as she knew her brother needed and deserved a good friend like him, she did wonder just how close their relationship ran. She patiently waited in the kitchen, back pressed into the counter, anticipating Jude's entrance in a couple of minutes at most.
He'd realized how vulnerable he was to the stress and desperate uncertainty that was part of being human. It took him back to the childhood memories of his friend; and today, just as yesterday, Gabriel was just the little boy named Daniel. He was never unaware of the younger angel's defenselessness, but even in retrospect, he wouldn't have fathomed something like this happening. And it left him guilty. So guilty. That he, perhaps, had his responsibility in this unfortunate event -- something which a friend (not an angel, a friend) would have prevented.
Standing underneath the cover of a balcony, he'd watched the same window frame for the past hour. And he'd contemplated whether he would visit. If he did, it would seem more like intruding; at least, more now than it would have years ago. Still, Leola perhaps sought answers. And he wouldn't hold them from her. In her place, he would question himself as her brother's keeper. And if the world as he'd once seen it in his childhood naivety had stayed the same, he'd miss her terribly now. Miss her and love her, peacefully and distantly, as a friend of a brother could.
But he was Michael. And it was as Michael that he came to her door and knocked. He carried with him a duffel bag filled with Gabriel's clothes and possessions; in his other hand, a gift. Consolation. Boxes of flavored tea packages.
Igraine was moving automatically toward the front door, not wanting her slumbering brother to be woken by another knock. Her tea sloshed quietly in her hand on the journey there, and careful to check the peephole before daring to open the door (it was Jude, no surprise), the former queen undid the locks and pulled the front door open.
She offered a weak, yet genuine, smile. There had been too many in the last several days. "Hi Jude," was her greeting, followed by a soft step toward him and a friendly kiss to his cheek. His presence here, as always, was highly appreciated.
Hearing a soft rustle from within, Michael gently laid both gift and duffel bag along the wall and stepped out of the way of the swinging door. His eyes adjusted slowly to the dimmer lighting inside, but he didn't need to see her (he heard her) to understand that she was drained, emptied, and heartbroken.
He empathized with her. In every way, he could comprehend. And it was on his mind to ask after Gabriel. But more importantly, he knew he had to ask --
"How are you?"
He wound an arm around her back. Once his hand came to rest against the curve of her side, he pulled her in softly. Soothingly. It seemed he was doing more of that these days, and more frequently. Her chaste kiss was returned with a smile and a look of concern.
His affection was well received with another smile, one that was tired and seemed to age Igraine. Her one hand came to press against Michael's shoulder, resting there. "Exhausted," she murmured, not seeing the need to form a lie about her state of mind and body. "But it's good to see you. Did you bring something for Danny?"
No, for Gabriel. Daniel. Gabriel. Could he ever be Gabriel when it was Daniel she'd grown up with? She tightened her hand around the mug of tea in her hand.
"Please rest. Take care of yourself first." He replied, lifting his hand to tuck a stray lock of her blonde hair. A soft pause as he noted the brief whitening of her knuckles against the mug. Was it something he said? Something she wanted to say? Michael turned to retrieve both bags and brought them inside.
"It's Danny's clothes. His things. He'll need them while he stays with you --"
Michael lightly tapped his finger against the smooth edge of her shelf. "I've been thinking."
Her cheeks stayed the same shade of pale even after his affectionate gesture, as she was already used to his touches and the warmth of his skin that she thought little of it. This was Jude. He was her brother's closest friend, the boy she'd known since grade school. Not once did her mind consider any of his touches inappropriate, as they were always gentle and comforting -- like that of a friend.
Igraine wrapped both hands around the mug, seeking warmth for her chilled fingertips. "About?"
To the warmth-seeking gesture, Michael leaned forward and rubbed her arm vigorously. This followed by a soft laugh; it wasn't enough comfort, but he couldn't let her, let them, dwell on sadness for too long. Pulling Gabriel's duffel bag to a chair, he unzipped and unpacked some of the contents.
"You and Danny. This city. How are you doing on your own?"
A sigh. Michael sank quietly against the couch arm, watching the younger angel's troubled breaths.
Something of a half-smile was offered, but it faltered at the sight of her brother on the couch. "We're doing alright. I've been cutting hours at work so I can be with him as much as I can," Igraine explained, coming to a stop right by Gabriel's head. Setting the tea upon the coffee table, she gingerly lowered herself down to her knees, one hand coming to rest upon her sleeping brother's hair.
"I've been living on my own for several years. Taking care of Danny is easy enough for me, but Carmine has been coming over as well."
And briefly she wondered: was Carmine an angel, too? Was Jude?
"There's a place several hours from here." He began. And then another pause, and a stop. Michael slowly leaned back, gripping the edge of the couch. He couldn't get ahead of himself. For now, he would trust. And believe. Have faith in the goodness and mercy of the Spirit. Still, wasn't it too much to ask of this good woman? The childhood sister of his friend. Wasn't it too much to ask her to endure in this city with two angels who could possibly put her in danger now? Especially during the times when himself and Uriel couldn't be there.
Leola, sweet Leola. But he did miss her, in his own way. "I wanted to make sure you're all right. Look at you now." And if she looked like this any longer (this drained, this far gone), he wouldn't be able to tolerate the burden he'd forced upon her. It was a delicate subject. "Taking care of him -- what about yourself? Listen. Anything you need, anything I could give."
He would give in a heartbeat. And not from his place as Michael. But as a human being.
After a quiet breath, "How has he been sleeping?"
"I take care of myself the best that I can. I have to." But Igraine's words weren't defensive, only assuring. As assuring as she could manage. "His pain medication has been keeping him asleep most of the day. It makes him drowsy," she carried on, stroking her brother's hair so very softly, so as not to wake him. "But he sleeps well. Never alone, though. I don't allow it."
Fingers smoothed across Gabriel's temples, gentle and loving. Even asleep, he needed that care, that adoration that came across in all of her touches, in the way she gaze upon him. He was her life, her best friend. She loved him beyond any three-worded admissions.
But it took its toll on her, going between work and her brother. Her golden hair, folded into a loose braid, was coming undone, tendrils of blonde framing her face. Her eyes were tired, her movements. Exhausted, but determined. Determined to keep him safe and loved.
"Taking care of two, with one bedridden, won't be easy. And I can't imagine that Daniel will take care of himself any time soon. Not when the pain went beyond the marks." Michael studied her patiently, an arm brought to lean over the corner of the couch like a protective posture. Seeing her like this was bittersweet: suffering, but there was a kindness to it, and a sense of comfort. Something he'd cherished once from above and afar. But it was also a personal heartache.
He leaned deeper and caught her hand, steadied it. "I understand. I know, and I understand." He murmured. "And what I want is for you to be there for him. Because he needs you and loves you. And because it'll hurt you to think of Daniel waking up to realize that it's not his sister he sees when he wants the comfort of his childhood protector. What I wish to say, and this isn't charity, Leola. Never charity. I would support you for as long as you need. And Carmine, doubtlessly."
Gabriel needed time and patience, but even more, he was wont to believe that Leola had her heart on his brother -- her brother -- and being torn away from him for work, it seemed, this would slowly eat her away. He would watch her exhaust herself into the ground. She was doing it even now.
His words were slowly sinking in, and rather than gazing upon Michael, Igraine watched her younger brother with concern written into her brow. There was so much, yet so little so could do for him. Touches and words could both break and heal. More than anything, she desperately wanted to erase the past, to give him back his peace, but such a thing was impossible: she knew.
She squeezed his hand as she lost herself in thought, and realizing it might have been too tight, she relaxed her grip.
"What should I do, Jude?" The former queen spoke in a murmur.
As though biding his time, Michael waited and watched Gabriel take several shallow breaths before he continued. "Focus on caring for Daniel and yourself," He replied, "and let me worry about everything else." The tight squeeze (understandably tight) was returned with a brush of his thumb across her fingers: affirmation that he believed it would get better, that things would right themselves.
"Over the weekend, when I'm not working, we can drive Daniel to the countryside and take him to the fair. It might be good for us." Like when they were children.
Something of a nostalgic smile crossed her lips. "The fair," she mirrored back, raking her gaze over the rise and fall of her brother's healing chest. The smile wavered so very slightly. "I'd like that. I know Danny would as well."
Saying his name like that felt natural, but there was still the inclination to call him by his true name. But what would that mean for them? She was always Leola, and he always Daniel. To be Igraine and Gabriel would be too surreal. Yet she had to know. There were so many questions that needed answering.
"Jude..." A brief pause. "About Danny. Has he ever..." God above, how to phrase this? "Has he ever told you? About him?"
That was about as specific as she'd allow herself right then.
"A day in the sun will be good for him. And for you." He swept his hand to brush a flicker of dust that had settled against Gabriel's shoulder. "Tomorrow, or when he wakes -- we'll ask him what he thinks."
The next question she posed his way came as a bit of a stretch. He thoughtfully listened, examined her expression. And he considered the subtleties of her words.
"About his job?" He began. And then--
Ah. "About his origins? His identity, you mean?"
He knew. Jude knew, and Igraine hadn't. So many questions fluttered around in her head restlessly: how long had he known? Why had Danny confided in Jude first before her? Was Jude an angel as well or was she merely jumping to conclusions she didn't want to voice for fear of being judgmental?
She adjusted her knees into the carpet, fingers grasping at the hem of her dress. Her next words were difficult to form. "Yes, about his identity." There was a pregnant pause. "He's told me he's Gabriel."
At once, Michael realized that this was a fragile question. And leaving the arm of the couch, he lowered himself to his knee -- to her level. His lips tightened pensively at the sight of her grasping the thin fabric. He was a truthful man, but cruelty he could never do. And there was a catching point. Right here. He didn't know enough about when Gabriel told her, or why. Being human, he also couldn't assume what Leola wished to understand.
She was asking, but it was a difficult time, a difficult place. He threaded a finger against the windsor knot and drew his tie loose. An instinctive motion. "He might have implied once. Some time ago."
That answered a couple of questions. Igraine tightened her fingers into the emerald folds of her dress, her eyes remaining on her brother. "Some time ago," she parroted back in a murmur, soon reaching up with that first hand to press it to her temple. Her cheekbone. Hurt had stained her tone, saturating it to the brim. Her natural inclination to be selfish reassured her it was only Daniel's fault for not telling her earlier, but she knew, knew just how difficult it was to tell your favorite sibling they were someone else.
Tears threatened to line across her lashes, but she blinked them away.
So selfish, Igraine. Always so selfish.
It was enough. Too much. Michael pressed a palm against the back of her neck, fingers halfway entwined in her hair. "Listen to me," he whispered, "there's nothing that he held back from you. Nothing. And the fact that he understood he was Gabriel changed nothing. He doesn't make that kind of distinction. Not with you, not with me, not with anyone."
A soft movement of his hand laced his fingers further through the blonde strands. Inhaling a breath, and positioning himself near awkwardly in the small space there was to move in, he'd pulled her close enough for warmth. Close enough for the reassurance he could manage for the time being.
Igraine remained speechless as she absorbed his words, took in their meaning. While they must have rung true -- Jude never lied to her, as far as she was aware -- still she wished she'd known earlier. That day with the dove -- she'd been there. How long had it taken for him to remember?
It didn't matter as Jude pulled her in close. She settled her cheek on her friend's shoulder, nose nearly brushing against the lapel of his shirt. The position was both awkward yet comfortable, especially considering the warmth of his body. His body was a veritable heater.
She took in a deep breath, but her voice was soft, quiet as she spoke.
"Are you an archangel as well, Jude?"
Michael wrapped his arms around her waist and left a brief kiss against her hair. Allowing silence to sink during the calm, his weight settled slowly against the side of the couch cushion as his shoulders untensed.
"Just breathe," he replied, "and sleep if you need to."
Not to deliberately evade the question. He didn't wish to press on and distress her. Make her feel as though she was being held by a stranger. She would have to know eventually. But for her, there was time to explain.