His left hand goes to her waist; his right arm goes around her, drawing her in, sheltering her as best he can from the rain, from the night, from the all-too-cruel world they both know.

He doesn't tell her not to cry; he doesn't reassure her with worthless platitudes. He murmurs quiet, meaningless sounds into the subdued fire of her hair, and stays as he is, holding her while she grieves.