Brian did have an idea - or at least he thought he did. He'd gone through the same heartache of being apart from his only family as Betsy did - but he had thought she was dead and gone. It wasn't easy. He hadn't been sure if she would ever be whole again. But before him now wasn't a broken girl; she was the woman who had the tenacity to endure, a strength that mirrored his own.
His arms drew up from the bedspread, finally, and one rested against the small of her back while the other mirrored the action of Betsy's hand on his face. He closed his eyes to the touch of her hand on his jaw, and moved his hand from cupping her chin, up the side of her outstanding cheek and finally laid to rest with his fingers fondling her ear and intertwining with her blond tresses. His eyes opened again and they sparkled, reflecting the contentment he felt in both body and spirit. I'm going to keep you safe, dear one.
The Brit's right arm shifted upwards, pulling Betsy closer to his face, and when she arrived, he touched his nose to hers once more and watched her until he forced himself to blink. His eyelids fell heavily, and he took his time to reopen them, giving a silent thanks that Betsy had been pulled closer to his face and further from his hips. There might have been some issues, otherwise. Or at least a hearty laugh in his face were she to discover his situation. He smirked very lightly to himself as he imagined her mockery, that laugh that said 'Brian, you're such a lunatic, but I love you no matter'. There was a third possible reaction, of course; mutuality. Where he lay with his eyes closed, Brian realized he might as well have announced his worries on broadcast radio, being nose to nose with the only listener.