The bombings in Muggle London had shocked everybody, even his family – Purebloods living in Ireland for the most part – but Finbar knew that for some, they had triggered some things that he couldn’t even begin to fathom for the sole reason that he had not experienced the most recent war the way they had. He felt for them, of course he did, sympathized with their struggles, but none of that sympathy and compassion came close to the pain he felt for Cho. She hadn’t said anything, hadn’t brought up the bombings, really, but she had been off, distant, and he hadn’t failed to see the lines of fatigue on her face, though she had fought valiantly to keep them hidden. So he had given her what she had she seemed to have needed; he’d been there when she had let him, and he had given her space when that had appeared to be what she wanted. No pressure, just him enjoying every moment he could be with him.
Gods, even he could tell how bad he had it for her, and he was pretty sure that if Lynch or any of his former team mates ever found out, he would never hear the end of it. But it didn’t matter, that wasn’t any of his concern; Cho’s distance was.
It had only been drinks, but even the few mouthfuls of snacks he had managed to lure into her, simply by getting her to mimic him, had been little victories, and he’d been thrilled when she had let him go back to her flat. For a few precious hours, he’d felt needed, like he could make a difference in her life, when she had let him hold her as she fell asleep. He’d watched her, listened as her breathing had slowed, and eventually he had fallen asleep too. It hadn’t lasted long, before Cho had jerked him awake, and he found himself with an armful of gasping Cho.
“Hey, hey, hey,” he soothed, tightening his arm around her, shushing gently as he pressed a kiss to her shoulder and then to her temple. “You’re alright. I’ve got you, love.”