It just seems unreasonable that, having cried over losing him, she should have to keep crying now that he's back. That the reaction should be so much the same to two things so different. (Never mind that she hates to cry. That horse has left the barn behind for good; he's seen her worse than this.)

Like this all she can do is grope blindly to twine their fingers together; she'd turn to face him if she could, but it's enough to have him wrapped around her.

"I thought I was crazy the whole time," she admits, hushed and awed. But there he was-- incorruptible and impossible-- and here he is.