Leto's brief foray into mirth slid away from him. He concentrated on the pages of the book that he'd lifted to cover his expression. There could be no kitchenette inside that small craft. And he'd never seen her emerge; she'd said she couldn't. There could be no supplies in there for her to cook with. He flipped a page, having read not a single word. His heart ached for her. Whatever she was, she wasn't able to face it.
And that, he understood too well. He himself had to change to manage the personalities that merged by birth into his consciousness. He was now a culmination of all the ancestors behind him joined with his own personality - none of them having any advantage over the other. It'd been the only way to manage it; otherwise, the rest would always fight for emergence, regardless of the intent. And regardless of that intent, he would then have become an Abomination, possessed by one of the ones behind him.
Like his aunt. Alia.
Leto set the book aside quietly.
"All right," he agreed. "I'll need your help in knowing what to do." She'd rightly guessed that he knew nothing of the custom of Christmas.