He could have stayed there in her arms for a long, long time, but he'd never been comfortable with long silences. He didn't know what to say— should he confess some of the other things he'd been worrying about? The other things that seemed to be greasing the way toward becoming someone he didn't want to be— how he'd been complicit in the prison they'd built for the Sheriff, and in Artemis hunting him like an animal, and how when he turned up looking for help Much had bashed him, and how he didn't feel in his heart that was wrong, because Much had so much anger for what the Sheriff had done to his friends and it had to go somewhere, but it wasn't exactly heroic. He could tell her how it felt like maybe there'd been something wrong with him since he came back to life, even; about all the careless things that had come out of his mouth this last year that had hurt his friends, because he'd missed some cue or was too wrapped up in his own selfish panic or pain to realise he was making theirs worse— he could say these things, and she'd listen, he could try and turn more of his fears into words, and she'd listen...
Slowly, Much pulled back from her, giving her a smile that had battled its way through all his thoughts to pass briefly over his face. "The... the chicken's gonna get cold," he said, quietly.