At her words his brow knit itself together properly now. His first impulse seemed naturally enough to make some kind of joke about looking great until he died again, but too many questions began piling up. If he couldn't age would he just... stay alive until some cause of death presented itself? And why this age? He must have aged in the past year, surely you noticed something like not aging. And if he didn't age then why did he still have to shave and clip his fingernails? It barely even made any sense. Enduring youth sounded appealing, but it couldn't be as simple as all that. He was still trying to figure out where to start on that when she spoke again.
He couldn't have children? James didn't even hear the rest of what she was saying. Since he'd been back it had been out of the question. Without Lily it was just- Merlin, he could barely even think about it. In the back of his mind he'd always expected, planned on, intended to have more children. Apart from his liking kids, he'd wanted Harry to have siblings. In his efforts to avoid building up some frail, tormenting hope James had tried to steer clear of any contemplation of Lily's return, but as Amarissa said it he managed to realize that somewhere deep down he'd figured that if she did, of course they'd have more children. It would be complicated, sure, but they'd dealt with complicated before.
But he couldn't. He couldn't? Part of his mind railed, wanted to demand how she could say such a thing with such certainty, but James knew how. That whole bloody building was devoted to studying people like James. Normally such a thing would have drawn up his temper, but the swelling ache in his chest - one he'd been able to put down for maybe months now - began throbbing its way into his consciousness. He would never have the sort of family he'd planned. His parents were dead, his wife was dead, and his son was grown. James would never get to be a proper father. His eyes dipped closed as he tried to fight the feeling from consuming him, gently pulling his thumb across her cheek for something, anything, to distract his sense. It helped.
He couldn't talk about it now; not like this, not with her. Not when there was his temper and her injuries and the way they were strewn together and the fact that when he opened his eyes the gold band on his right hand would catch the light even through her hair. He could leave. He could slip away and drink until he was comfortably numb and for the evening try to forget his wife with some other redheaded girl- but she'd asked him to stay. Needed him to stay. She wouldn't have asked otherwise, he figured. She needed him to stay, so he would stay.
"I think it's time to go to sleep," he said after a moment, opening his eyes.
They would deal with it in the morning, when James could think a little more clearly, when he could properly marshal his thoughts and ignore the now dull tension running through his chest. She would put on proper clothes and be an Auror and James would be James and that would make this make a little more sense. It would be easier in the morning. James continued to tell himself this.