Alfred would have been quite content (well, content being the exact opposite of the right word, but that was how the saying went) to sit there and hold her hands for another twenty minutes, at least. This was significantly more real than anything that had happened in their conversation so far, and it was the first time he'd felt connected to her in months — and it might be the last time, ever, so he was in no rush to bring the moment to a close. He was surprised when she pulled one of her hands away, but when he looked up he noticed the tear as she wiped it away.

Heaven help him, he'd made her cry. Alfred felt his stomach sink and he pulled his remaining hand away from hers hastily. "I'm sorry," he said, pushing his chair back from the table slightly. He didn't know what he was apologizing for, exactly. Everything, he supposed. He should not be here. He wanted someone to tell him things were going to be okay, which she couldn't do. Failing that, he wanted comfort, and it wasn't fair to ask that of her, considering everything that had happened recently. The crying was proof enough of that. "I should go."