She takes it gratefully, and hopes he'll write off her little sniffle as nothing. It's nothing. By now it's obvious she's at the stage where sudden crying doesn't need a cause or explanation, and this has been an emotional day for both of them.

Leaning back into his grasp she turns on the television, idly flipping channels; not lingering on anything that's too serious or tinged with current events. The truth is she doesn't care, either, and lands on some sitcom that seems at least momentarily satisfactory. They can always try again when the food gets here.

"There's no food in the kitchen," she says after a moment, craning her neck to glance at him. "But everything else-- everything else should be here, still."

Maybe minus a shirt or two, stolen from his drawers, but what's that between-- whatever they are.