She gave him a small smile when he looked up at her and acquiesced, squeezing his hand back as he let himself be lifted and guided away with a softly muttered "Thank you," letting him set the pace. Once they were in the kitchen, she guided him to a seat at the island in the middle of the room before she was off, one eye and one ear trained on him as she filled a glass with water and placed it in front of him. She returned to the pantry and pulled out bread and a can of beans, placing them down as she swept to the refrigerator and pulled out eggs, butter, sausage, rashers, tomatoes, a little carton of mushrooms. An armful of food that she carried over to the cook top in the island across from him.

"Fry-up sound fine, or would it make you sick?" She pulled out a skillet and set it to heat on the stove. If it was too much for his stomach, she could always eat it herself and figure out something else for him.

And then she was going still as she waited for the pan to heat, looking over at him, the silence lingering between them for a moment before she finally managed to work up the courage to ask what was possibly the easiest way of addressing the great, big elephant in the room.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Probably not, they never did. But she said she was going to stay until she was sure he was ok, and just letting him stew in whatever was hurting him wasn't going to get him there. Best to let him feel like it was his choice. They never dealt well with being told to talk about what was going on in their head.