His brow furrows because he does hear that in her tone and it worries him. It also makes him angry. He'd like to hit whomever had taken his anger out on her. He watches her, eyes focused only on her, trying to block out every other visual stimuli. His breath catches. "I'm sorry, Lydia." And this time, he isn't apologizing for something he's done. He reaches out to run his thumb along her forehead, pushing hair off her face.

He closes his eyes at the kiss, taking a deep breath of her. He glides his fingertips over her skin, soaking in every sensation from the feel of her lips to the feel of her skin and the smell of her. It centers him, grounds him.

He takes another deep breath and nods a little. "Okay," he tells her. "Okay." He's got no idea how they're going to do that, how they're going to make anything okay, but he takes comfort in her words anyway. He winds his fingers in her hair, holding her close, eyes still closed. He's not sure what it says about him that he's more comfortable in the dark, more comfortable with his eyes closed.