[Diarmuid's expression softens, wet eyes drawn to her hand before he looks back to her with a newfound and earnest thankfulness. He still feels so alone — lost and astray, without his family to guide him now. Rua, Cathal, Ciaran... the Mute. All of them lost to such senseless violence. Such bent and broken ideals. And now he's all on his own, left to do something with these terrible pieces inside him.

He puts his hand over theirs and squeezes carefully, allowing himself for a moment to succumb to his old ways and trust fully, with hope and appreciation and something nearly innocent again in his gaze.]

Thank you. Truly. I will do the same for you — that I will promise.

It's all so many of us can do, in times like these.