Alfred's grip on her arm tightened as she tried to pull back. He didn't want to let go of her. He didn't know what would happen if he let go. Even though he was standing between her and the fireplace, she might leave. She might just disappear, or she might do something drastic and frantic, and he didn't want to let go. Even if this turned into a wrestling match in his living room, he didn't want to let go.

"You —" he started, but he didn't know what to say. You can stay. But it wasn't as though saying it would convince her, not when she was steps away from the fireplace and she'd already stopped hearing him. She was back in fight-or-flight mode; he'd only managed to talk her down for a moment, and even though he was holding onto her arm she was more or less already gone. If he could break through the wall again, maybe he could say something that would get through to her, but how was he going to do that?

"You —" he tried again; lapsed. You can't leave like this. But that was selfish, and it wouldn't work. That was just about him, about how much he didn't want to lose her, and Jo wasn't going to hear that right now. If she was set on leaving the country even though it would hurt this man she said she loved, why would it matter that he wanted her to stay for a few more minutes?

In the intensity and the sudden closeness of the moment, a thought occurred to him unbidden — something that might break through her defenses again, if only briefly. Thought was actually the wrong word; it was something less than that. A feeling, a suggestion, an impulse — but one he didn't think he'd ever experienced before. His breath caught in his throat; he held it.