George was a bit taken aback. He didn't actually think Alicia would come inside, much less willingly. He followed her dumbly into the flat, kicking off his shoes as he watched her walk to the kitchen. She was already setting toast on while he set his purchases on the counter.
He didn't exactly have anything planned. Honestly, he'd just wanted, more than anything, to see she was alive, to hug her and feel she was alive.
"I don't want— need you to say anything, Al," he said after an equally long, quiet moment. "I'm just— I just—" George didn't often fumble. He only ever really did it when he was upset. THe worst his fumbling through speech had ever been had occurred right after Fred's death, when he'd had trouble speaking by himself and not in tandem with Fred. He was fumbling now, though, overwhelmed at the thought that he could have lost her, lost Ange or Katie.
"I'm sorry I haven't done more to protect you," he blurted, eyes fixated on the floor. "I'm so bloody fucking sorry, Al." He'd preoccupied with work and Natalie and Eva, and the girls had disappeared under his nose, and he was too concerned about presenting the perfect little businessman front to the Ministry and protecting his own arse. He'd been ignoring his friends and he was paying for it. "I can't lose you," he whispered, ashamed at his inability to be the man Fred would have been in the situation. He was only the sorry, leftover half-shell. He wasn't even whole, and it was clear by the way he'd handled this situation.