He takes my hand. I'm quivering, still poised waiting for his reaction, for him to yell, scream, run off, be dreadfully calm and restrained again, grab me and kiss me, shove me, punch me...anything.

But he's calm, and seems a little less like he's holding himself horribly still inside for fear he'll break.

"I need to do that, too," I say softly, marvelling at the feel of his fingers in mine. "I'm not good at this, Ankh. But this is why I support you taking more time. If you need it, you should have it. What kind of love would I be if I tried to stop you having what you need?"