On the contrary, for once Marian had no intentions of forcing him to talk. He didn't have to talk about these feelings. This wasn't some ridiculous need to prove himself despite all the good deeds he'd done, or a fury she could never identify with over the injustices he'd seen that she never would. This was mourning. Plain and simple. She'd been too tiny to remember her mother's death, but she had lost her father very recently, and friends and loved ones along the way. And she, too, had just lost a friend in Much.
So rather than prying at him, she climbed into the bed to fill that space at his side, tucking her arm around him and resting her chin on his shoulder. They were both tired and weary, she still had some recovering to do, and he had worn himself out trying to help. But they could handle all of that together if they needed to.
"Hi," she whispered back, her eyes closing as if between that and Robin's body shielding her, she could block out the cruelty of the world. With him by her side, nothing would hurt her. She knew, really, she'd been quite lucky. So many were gone, so many people more seriously injured than her. She was alive and she'd heal quickly and her husband was fine and by her side. Even Arrow was safe, the little poodle-mix asleep on a chair in the corner, just as stressed and afraid of the events that had happened as his parents were.
But Much was gone. He was gone and she could only hope she'd done enough to make sure he knew he was loved and accepted.