He didn't know what to do for her, for this kind of grief. He'd been a right mess after the war himself, but he hadn't been this quiet, this still. He almost really would have preferred her to yell at him again better than... Salazar, she was so broken.
He let her out of his arms only enough to take her hands instead. "Yeah," he said tightly. "Yeah, I know. But it can't all be about Bole, Meg." There's laughing and school and work and embarrassing crushes and tumbling around with friends and roast chicken and love. He wanted to explain but could only stroke her fingers, terrified.