He put his hand on her head. Slow. Deliberate. He began to massage her head.
She went very still.
He didn't say anything. Just let his hand work through her hair, while the room was quiet and the compound settled around them and outside a Colorado night went on about its business.
She didn't cry. Not quite. Her breathing changed as he ran his fingers through her hair, rubbed her head and she relaxed against his legs. She was facing away from him, he thought it might make it easier for her.
"I'm not usually—" she started.
"I know."
"I handle things."
"I know that too."
"This is—" Her voice was small. Not weak. Just honest. "This is a lot of things to handle."
"Yes," he said. "It is."
His thumb moved through her hair. “You don’t have to. That’s what I’m here for, baby.”
She exhaled.
They stayed like that for a long time. The clock on the wall ticked. Clover padded past the open door, assessed the situation,and continued down the hall with the diplomatic discretion of a very good dog.
"Daddy," she said eventually.
"Yeah."
"The scene in the book." She paused. "Is that… Is that something you would…" She stopped. He felt the tension of the question she wasn't finishing. He should feel annoyed that she didn’t know the answer to that question yet. Of course. Of course, he would crawl into bed beside her and cuddle her. Anything she needed.
"Yes," he said. Before she'd completed it. Because he knew what she was asking and because she deserved an answer that didn't make her finish the hard part.
She was quiet.
"Okay," she said, very quietly. Just that.
He kept his hand where it was.
After a while, her breathing had fully steadied and her shoulders had dropped and she was leaning her temple against the arm of the chair, and he could feel the exact moment she started to drift.
"Go to bed," he said.
She made a sound that was not an agreement.
"Emily."
"Mm."
"Bed."
She straightened up. Slow. The way you moved when your body had released the tension it had been carrying all day and wasn't interested in rebuilding it. She got up and climbed back onto the bed and pulled the blanket, her blanket, the one from her apartment, up around her.
She looked at him from across the room. Eyes heavy.
"Thank you," she said. "For coming in."
"You didn't tell me to leave."
