"Stop it," he said sternly, when she was finished, staring passively through her outpouring of emotion. Of course he felt for her, understood she was hurting, but her children needed her and wallowing in her pain wouldn't help them or her. "Don't sit here feeling sorry for yourself. Your kids are the most important thing right now and this-" he gestured at her tear stained face and the cell around them, testament to the consequence of her desperate measures, "Isn't going to help them."
Angry Wicked he could handle, but he didn't want to face her defeated like this. Broken. There was too much on the line, her babies, for one thing, and he wasn't going to see her give up on it all. The tough love was necessary. Nick knelt beside the bed and caught one of her hands, making her look at him through her tears.
"What you've been through's fucked up, sure, but life's fucked up. That's just the way it is for some people. Like you said, you're not the first, you're not alone, everyone's been through shit. Whole of fucking humanity's got problems. So, kid, you need to buck the fuck up." He reached into his back pocket and fished out his wallet, pulling out a photograph and holding it up for her to see. It was a picture he'd snapped of her kids when they were born, held in the arms of a tired and pale, but smiling Wicked.
"Because you are a mother, whether you think you weren't meant to be or that there isn't a point or whatever bullshit you're trying to tell yourself right now. Because you're wrong. Whatever you think you deserve you've still got that little boy and you fucking owe it to him to keep it together." He paused and shot her a very small smile, quickly gone, at his next words, "I am not raising your baby, I've got enough on my plate." Nick tapped the picture again, his finger over Katya's head. "And there's still this little girl you've got to hold on for. And I'll know soon where she's been taken."