“Perhaps,” Natasha said, watching him settle in on the other side of the bed. “But you’re still pretty spry for an old man.”

Rolling onto her side to face him, she tucked her hands under her own pillow a moment, mimicking his position as she searched his face. She knew he had never really liked the cold, he always complained when they got sent somewhere snowy, preferring more tropical destinations, but it had gotten worse, but then his tolerance for a lot of things had gone downhill as clearly evidenced by his feelings about the home he used to love.

She was pretty sure she could see in his eyes that he didn’t want to talk about it anymore, but the heavy stuff kept coming up tonight, so maybe it wasn’t a matter of ‘want’ so much as ‘need’.

“Whenever you’re ready to talk, about anything, I’m here,” she offered simply, her voice soft and sincere.