Oliver let her cry. He'd been in this position enough times to know that tears sprang for many different reasons, not all of them because he'd said the wrong thing. If he had, he was sure Tonks would let him know soon enough.
Her tears were starting to soak through his shirt before he started to really worry and absently pet her shoulder as she cried. Tonks didn't seem the type to cry often or easily, Oliver thought. He supposed it only went to show how much this had been weighing on her, how much it mattered to her.
It was one thing to think you knew someone. It was something else to have them open up to you a mere few weeks after having met you, opening up to you rather than to anyone else, anyone she'd known from back home. And it was even more to have them cry through your shirt; there was something about knowing how much this mattered to her that made Oliver believe that he was starting to really know her. To see the type of woman she was. He liked what she was seeing.
But he did want her to stop crying. This was breaking his heart. Still, he didn't say anything, swallowing through his constricted throat, waiting for her to calm down.