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It was two o'clock in the morning and for the first time in a while, Shane's steady breathing wasn't enough to coax Ilya to sleep.
All he could think about was the room across the hall and the hollow smile he received from his daughter, Mila, when he said goodnight a few hours ago.
"Love you, Malyshka," he said at the much more respectable hour of 10pm.
"Love you. Goodnight." She mumbled back as Shane took his turn in their nighttime ritual and kissed the top of her head.
Ilya stood at the foot of her bed watching them.
"Sleep well. Try to stay off your shoulder." Shane reminded.
"It doesn't hurt."
"Okay. I'm glad, but it was a hard hit, kid. Come get us if you need."
Both of them had spent the evening fussing over her after she played an unusually aggressive hockey game.
She was always a fierce player, but she spent a good chunk of the game in the penalty box. That was unlike her.
They caught eyes as Shane hugged her, and shared a long look.
"Okay. Night."
Each goodnight was a lie.
Ilya and she both knew full well that neither of them would be sleeping anytime soon.
He wanted to scold her like Shane does with him when he stays up too late scrolling on his phone, but he knew that wouldn't get them anywhere, based on the last time he tried (yesterday).
She had narrowed her eyes at him, "You know you're a hypocrite, right Papa?"
"Papas are allowed to be hypocrites. This is new rule." He argued back lamely.
Because she was right. She usually was. It was one of the more annoying traits she had picked up from Shane.
Now he was blinking tiredly at his dimmed phone screen. His eyes hurt as he went through his usual mindless iPhone games, desperate for a distraction.
He heard Mila's footsteps from the hall twice in the past hour, going back and forth from the bathroom. She was restless and it made his heart ache.
He glanced to Shane sleeping next to him. He did not look peaceful either. Shane only recently drifted off, and the furrow in his brow remained stubborn, as if he was still planning in his sleep.
He brushed his fingers gently across Shane's cheek and watched him stir slightly. His nose scrunched and he let out a longer breath. Ilya smiled when he drifted back off, this time without the same tight expression.
When he heard footsteps and her door close shut once again, he decided he couldn't take it anymore.
He slipped out of bed toward her room. He heard her bed frame squeak as she climbed back into it.
He knocked softly and smiled in amusement when all the noise immediately stopped. He waited a second before cracking her door open.
"I know you are awake," he called out in a quiet, singsong tone into her dark room.
"I'm not." Her voice was small. It wasn't like her.
She hadn't been herself at all recently.
"Oh. You are a very talented sleep talker then."
He took a step closer and saw her tired eyes gazing up at him. She always looked younger tucked into bed like this.
He smiled softly and tried to guess her response, how she might close her eyes to feign sleep and play along.
Instead her reply was a curt, "What do you want?"
Ilya tried not to frown and steadied himself.
"My shoulder's still fine." She offered, like that would send him away.
"Okay. Come downstairs. I have sleepy time tea for us." He kept his tone the same, regardless of her attitude. He never liked when people tiptoed around his bad moods too much.
"I don't really want anything."
"You will make me drink all this sleepy tea alone?" He pouted. "I think that is dangerous. I might sleep for weeks if I drink this much."
"Sounds fine to me."
She stared up at him with the unwavering and unimpressed eyes he couldn't help but be so proud to see. He loved that she never smiled politely or filled silences with forced laughs, the way so many young girls are trained to.
"C'mon. It is your favorite raspberry kind Dad makes."
"Papa, I don't care." She muttered.
Okay, it was a little annoying when it was directed at him.
"I will come carry you down if you are not in the kitchen in five minutes." He left before she could argue too much.
Exactly four minutes later, he heard stubborn footsteps approach the kitchen.
"You're just starting it now?" She asked. "I thought you'd be done."
Ilya held back an eye roll at the annoyed edge to her voice.
"Oh, sorry, I should have been more prepared for 2 in the morning tea time." He threw a look over his shoulder while filling up Shane's electric kettle with water.
"Can you just bring it to me upstairs? I'm tired." She rubbed her eyes with a fist for extra effect.
"Ah, yes so tired that you run around the house all night like a little rocket." He turned to face her. "Sit." He raised his eyebrows and nodded his head down to the chair at the island.
"You're up too." She muttered.
He called that response from a mile away.
"Yes, we established this. I am up. You are up. So hang out with me. I am so lonely down here."
She didn't respond to that, but settled into the chair, resting an elbow on the island.
He couldn't help but stare for a moment.
She looked just like his mama in the dim lighting. He didn't say it this time. He knew he had to stop saying it before it became something he said too often, and it lost all its meaning.
He didn't want it to be something she ever brushed off or got sick of hearing.
"Guess what?" He forced himself to look away. She sometimes got spooked with long eye contact. Another Shane thing she picked up.
"What?"
"You do not sound curious enough."
"Because I'm not."
"Oh? Why not?"
"Cause it's the middle of the night and you're holding me hostage over tea I don't want."
"Wow! Hostage?" He put a hand over his heart dramatically, "I thought we were having a special bonding moment."
"Just tell me what."
"Okay. Now you sound curious enough. I will tell you." He smiled when she narrowed her eyes back at him. "I just went 12-0 in the Grand Challenge and maxed out my rewards." He bragged about his game.
"You're even more annoying at 2am." She sighed.
He turned to hide his smile. Shane kept telling him that they didn't want to encourage her rudeness, but again, Ilya did really love it.
She was fearless around him. It made things more difficult, yes. But he wouldn't trade that for the opposite.
Ilya knew too well what it was like to tiptoe around the house, keep your eyes down, and speak a simple "yes sir" only when spoken too. He didn't want that for her.
"You sound jealous."
"I don't even play Clash Royal anymore."
"Because you could never beat me." He shrugged.
"That's so not true."
"It's okay. Papa can give you tips."
"I literally taught you my strategies."
"And I taught you how to talk." He argued, "So it all comes back to me."
"You're taking credit for all my accomplishments that involve talking?"
"Hm. Yes, I think so." Ilya puffed up his chest playfully. "Sounds fair to me."
"Fine."
"Fine?" He eyed her suspiciously.
"Yeah, you obviously need the ego boost, old man."
"Old man?" He repeated incredulously.
His shoulders relaxed a bit when she nodded and a playful smile started to melt away the frown she had been wearing all night.
"Yeah, it's totally understandable that you'd need to steal my accomplishments." She shrugged. "Since you've been lacking in that department."
"It is not stealing."
"It is."
"No. I raise you to be the most perfect, smart, beautiful, talented person. This is my accomplishment." He smiled.
"Whatever." She did not play back. She looked away and picked at her fingernails.
Ilya's posture went rigid again.
Just like that, all his gentle teasing and coaxing her out of her gloomy mood was erased.
"What just happened?" He looked her up and down.
"What?" She glanced up.
"I am done with this guessing game."
"What guessing game?"
"The one we have been playing all week?"
"What?"
"The one where we ask what is wrong and you frown and say you are fine." He shook his head, letting some of his frustration seep out into his tone.
"Nothing's wrong." She frowned, exactly the way he described.
Ilya couldn't help but let out a humorless scoff of laughter at that. He regretted it slightly when her eyes flashed up to him.
"What's funny?" She glared.
"Nothing." He threw back at her childishly.
"Seriously?"
"Yes. We agree. Nothing is wrong. Nothing is funny."
"You're so annoying."
"I'm using your favorite word. Nothing. How is this annoying?"
"Because you're saying it."
"You think it is any better when you say this word?"
"You're annoying."
"You said this already."
"You're still annoying."
"You should be more creative with insults."
"Your water's overflowing."
"What?"
Ilya turned to see the electric kettle boiled over, getting water on the counter.
"Blyat!" He muttered Russian profanity while he unplugged it.
"I think you overfilled it."
"Oh really? Thank you, so helpful, Malyshka." He grumbled.
"You're supposed to leave room for it to boil." She continued to explain as he cleaned it up.
"Wow. You should teach classes on how to boil water." He turned to look at her and all his annoyance melted in an instant.
She didn’t respond. It was weird having the last word. Ilya couldn’t think of a time she’d ever been the one to stop a petty conversation. She could usually tease back and hold her own for hours, until he or Shane declared it was enough. She was still glaring, but all Ilya could focus on was the exhaustion deep in her eyes.
"Go sit on the couch. I will bring it." Her eyes on him was suddenly too much.
"I'm getting stressed watching you do this anyways." She mumbled.
She turned and walked toward the large sectional couch in the living room.
Again, it crossed his mind. She was just like his mama.
The thought did not bring the usual warmth to his chest.
Usually, it came to him as a warm feeling when he heard her hum in the mornings, or saw the tiny, proud smile on her face after making Ilya laugh especially hard, or watched her take out her braids to reveal the exaggerated head of curls they produced.
Now all he could see was the dark room his mama laid in. The tired smile that grazed her lips as she tried desperately to humor a 9 year old Ilya with what little energy she could cling onto.
He felt like that 9 year old boy in his own kitchen, boiling water for tea and hoping he could figure out how Shane made it taste so good.
He considered waking Shane up, dropping a glass loud enough for him to sleepily come downstairs and take over. His husband could gently unpack Mila's emotions the way he learned to do all those years ago with Ilya.
Instead, he poured what was left of the water over the tea bags, poured quick splashes of milk in both, and hoped for the best.
"Here."
He handed her a mug and sat down next to her on the couch.
He took a sip and cringed at how bitter it was.
"Sorry." He mumbled after she took a cautious sip.
"It doesn't have to taste good; it just has to make us tired." She shrugged and took a bigger sip, her face more controlled now, not letting Ilya read her emotions. "But it's not bad."
Even now she was kind. She was protecting him from his own shitty tea.
"What does Dad put in this to make it good?”
"I don't know. He usually just brings it to me already made."
"Yes, me too." Ilya admitted.
They both took quiet sips.
"So... how long until we get sleepy do you think?" Ilya didn't have anything better to say.
She just shrugged at the question, only with the left shoulder this time. He made a note to get her more Advil before she slept.
Ilya knew that any other night she would've played along. He pictured her doing something silly to make him laugh, like pretending to pass out right then. It hurt having her so close, yet so unlike the joyful girl he knew.
"Okay. You are upset. We both know. Big secret is out." He stage-whispered at her. "Tell me why."
She stared at him before her gaze dropped down to the mug again.
"I don't want to talk about today's game."
"Good thing this is not what I asked about."
"You obviously want to ask about it."
She was right. He and Shane had bit their tongues all night at dinner not to ask what was up with her after all her unnecessary, sloppy checks and time in the box.
"I don't care about your game."
"I played bad."
So she did want to talk about the game. Fine. He could do weird emotions through hockey. Shane trained him for this.
"You played with lots of anger. Not your usual smart aggression. Why?"
"Because everyone was being stupid."
"Oh, everyone?"
"Yes."
"That would make me angry too. But you have been angry all week. Not just today."
"Maybe everyone's been stupid all week." She furrowed her eyebrows.
"You know, sometimes when I am mad and I can't find a reason for it... it's because I'm actually feeling something different."
"Good for you."
"So funny. Your turn."
"My turn for what?"
"What other emotion do you think you might be feeling?"
"Right now? Annoyance. At you."
"Why?"
"Because you're doing therapy talk on me. You can't trick me with that now that I go too."
"Ah, yes, you caught me. My favorite evil trick. Asking you about emotions."
She stared down at her mug.
He vaguely remembered being 16. The pressure and confusion. Desperately begging to be taken seriously. This was something more, something he always feared she would struggle with.
"Do you feel sad?" Ilya tried to sound neutral.
"I don't... know."
He could tell she wasn't being difficult on purpose. Not anymore.
"It's okay. Not to." He swallowed. "Just try to tell me what you're thinking."
"Okay, but why? It's not going to change anything."
"It can help." He felt out of his depth here.
"How." She didn't look convinced and took a long sip of her tea, downing the rest of it, like that might just hurry this whole thing up.
"These annoying liar thoughts can feel like they are in charge when you let them live in your head all secret and alone." He tapped his temple. "When you say them out loud, at least part of them will leave your head."
"I'm not really sure what's... like... I don't know." Her gaze was shifty and uncomfortable, obviously trying to collect her many thoughts.
"Just say what is on your mind. I do not need to understand it. You do not need to understand it either. It just helps to get it out."
She looked at him silently.
"What?" He urged.
"When did you turn into Dad?" She looked suspicious.
"Oh, I say something helpful and suddenly I'm Dad? Why can't this be a Papa thing?"
"It's not your thing."
"Okay, fine, I might get it from Dad. But it is a very good move, okay? I would know." He thought back to Shane's grounding voice on the phone as he paced through that cold tunnel in Russia.
"It's nothing really." She started with a sigh. "It just doesn't really matter I guess."
"What doesn't matter?"
"I don't know. Any of it." She gestured frustratedly.
"Any of what, sweetheart?"
"Like today, the game. It doesn't matter. I'm never going to be as good as you or Dad. And no one would take me as seriously even if I was."
"Hey, that's not true."
"Papa, it's fine. It doesn't matter."
"It does matter. It is bothering you."
"Yeah, well, there's nothing I can do about any of it. So it really doesn't matter."
"Did someone say something? Your coach?"
"No. I was just thinking about it."
"Well. Maybe how good you play doesn't matter. But how much fun you have playing matters. How you treat your team matters."
"Yeah, sure."
This was deeper than a game. Ilya knew it before, but it was clearer than ever now.
"So you're mad at the whole world? Or just hockey?"
"I'm being serious." She obviously didn't like his question.
"I know. Being mad at the whole world is very serious." He knew that feeling.
"Whatever." She scoffed and shrugged again, wincing this time.
"Stay here. I will get you Advil." He sighed.
"I said I don't need it."
"Too bad. It will help."
He needed a breather. Maybe he was butchering Shane's whole 'get your feelings out' technique.
He wanted a cigarette. Instead he made her toast, grabbed her a glass of water and painkillers, and returned.
She accepted them with a glare, because of course she did. She took an angry bite of toast and swallowed down the pills.
"Happy?"
"Very."
"Awesome."
They sat there in silence while she picked at the crust.
"I said what I was thinking." She said.
"You did." Questionable, but he wasn’t going to argue.
"So when am I supposed to feel better?"
"I don't know. Ask Dad. It is his thing." He pulled his lips to the side with a shrug.
"Ask Dad what?" Their heads both turned quickly at Shane's voice behind them.
"Ah, Shane! Hello." He smiled wearily at the sight of his grumpy looking husband.
He had his hands on his hips, his eyes immediately scanned both of them over. A silent question of if they were okay.
Ilya gave a small reassuring nod, as a silent 'we're good.' He didn't quite know if it was true, but wanted to comfort Shane anyways.
And then Shane's gaze locked onto the mugs on the coffee table. More importantly, the two tea bags discarded directly on the table's surface instead of the little dishes Shane bought.
"How many times—"
"Okay! I know, I know. I'm sorry." Ilya picked up the bags and put them into Shane's outstretched hand so he could toss them in the trash.
"Why is no one in bed?" Shane asked through tired blinks.
"Anya is in bed." Ilya pointed out.
"Trust me, I know that. She's snoring."
"I thought that was you."
"I don't snore."
"Yes, you do, you wake the whole house up. This is why we are out of bed." Ilya lied.
He glanced over to see a hint of a smile on Mila's face.
Shane looked over when Ilya did and his eyebrows furrowed a bit as he fully took in her exhausted demeanor. He focused into her quickly.
"Are you okay?" He sat down next to her, so she was between them.
"I'm fine." She shrugged. Her smile disappeared at the attention back on her.
"Fine is not a feeling." Ilya corrected.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing."
Ilya huffed at the word. She was doing that on purpose.
"You couldn't sleep?" Shane frowned.
"Papa woke me up and made me come down here." She shot a challenging look to Ilya, so quickly that Shane completely missed it.
"She is such a liar, Shane—"
"Papa is the liar—"
"She keeps me up with her footsteps down the hall—"
"Dad, that's not true! He's drugging me with tea—"
"She called me old—"
They both spoke at the same time over each other as Shane's eyes bounced between the two of them. He watched their rants with raised eyebrows until both of them eventually trailed off.
"Are you guys done?" He rubbed his forehead.
"One last thing. You look very handsome." Ilya leaned over an annoyed Mila to brush over Shane's cheek quickly.
"I don't want to sit in the middle if you're going to be gross." She muttered.
"Aw, I have love for you too." Ilya played dumb, reaching to pinch her cheek and kiss the top of her forehead as she grumbled and swatted him away.
"Ilya, give her space." Shane scolded lightly.
"Fine, we'll do a Mila sandwich later." Ilya relented, remembering how she used to giggle as a toddler when he and Shane would hug with her squished in between them.
"Seriously, what's going on? Why are you guys up in the middle of the night?" Shane asked again.
"It's basically when you get up anyways." She mumbled at Shane.
"I get up at 5 most days." He argued.
"Same thing." She said.
"5am and 2am are not the same thing."
"Same vibes."
"Hey, you know this word confuses him." Ilya cut in to Shane's defense.
They've had many lessons on teenage slang but the concept of "vibes" never really stuck for his husband. Shane did better with clear rules and definitions.
"It doesn't matter." Shane shook his head. "Are you stressed about something? Your game tomorrow?"
"Yeah, I'm super stressed about playing Sacred Heart." She said sarcastically.
"Alright, yeah, they suck. They lost against Richmond high last week." Shane agreed. He followed Mila's high school girls hockey league with the same level of detail as he did the NHL, maybe a little more. "But it can still be stressful?"
"I don't care about that. It's not hockey. I don't care about hockey."
"You don't?"
Ilya never thought he'd hear those words from her.
"I don't know, okay? I'm just tired."
"Tired, but you can't sleep?" Shane was the only person he knew who could ask questions like that without it seeming like a challenge.
Ilya watched it happen. She opened her mouth to argue, to spit back some carefully worded quip to distract them, only to have nothing. Her bottom lip quivered slightly and she leaned back forcefully, as if willing the couch cushions to envelop her completely.
"I don't know what's wrong with me." Her voice was distant and shaky.
"Hey, hey..." Shane jumped in immediately with quiet reassuring words Ilya couldn't fully listen to. His ears were ringing.
Ilya had to look away, to steady himself. These were words he heard his mama say, and words he'd said himself. And yet, he still felt so unprepared to handle them.
He didn't have much time to panic before he felt a shift on the couch next to him and a hand on his knee.
Mila was hidden away in Shane's chest. He had a hand securely wrapped around her, rubbing her back gently. His other hand was resting on Ilya's leg.
His eyes stung as he looked to Shane over Mila's shoulder.
"We'll figure it out, okay?" Shane spoke gently to her. His eyes remained locked with Ilya.
Ilya felt a wave of appreciation wash over him.
Maybe she was like his mama. But Shane was nothing like his father.
He shifted closer to them. There was no right thing to say. He knew the numb exhausted lens she was experiencing the world through. Words didn't do much in that state.
Once his voice was steady enough, he announced, "I need a Mila sandwich."
He reached out to hug Shane. Mila was completely surrounded by both of them in the middle. He felt her body shake with quiet sobs. Up close, he could see Shane's eyes were teary too.
"I know it feels scary." Ilya spoke softly. "But we are here. We got you. Always. No matter what."
Shane nodded.
"And sometimes there is nothing wrong that we can fix. Sometimes it is chemicals in our brains. Either way you did nothing wrong. There is nothing wrong with you." Ilya felt the words start to come easier as he stared at Shane.
"How long have you been feeling like this?" Shane asked.
"I don't know." She used her favorite phrase again.
Ilya hummed out something unsatisfied.
"Maybe like since school started again." She added.
"That's two weeks, kid." Shane frowned. "That's a long time to feel like this."
"I guess so."
"Have you been sleeping bad since then?"
He felt her shrug between them.
"I think yes." Ilya answered. "I see you active on instagram in the middle of the night all the time."
Shane rolled his eyes. Ilya smiled a little. Shane complained, but Mila got so much of her attitude right from him.
"It's like I'm tired all day and then..." She admitted with a sniffle. "I just can't sleep."
"Probably because I make the sleepy tea so wrong. Is not your fault."
She laughed through her next sob and wiped her eyes. "It was really bad tea, Papa."
"You told me it was not so bad!" Ilya laughed and squeezed her tighter.
"Yeah, I lied."
"What'd you do to it?" Shane was laughing too, while he rubbed her back.
"I made it just like I make hot chocolate. Usually very yummy."
"Oh, it was bitter?" He guessed.
"So bitter." She nodded.
"You have to let the water cool more, with that kind before you steep it." Shane explained. "Also, I usually add a drop of vanilla extract in both of yours."
"Doesn't sound very healthy." He teased.
"It's not." Shane smiled and Ilya didn't think he could ever love him more. "Grandma taught me." He added.
"Ah. No wonder you are so good at it."
Ilya was endlessly grateful that Shane grew up with Yuna teaching him secrets like that daily. Secrets his daughter would take for granted just like Shane did.
Mila began to shift in between them, so they both stopped smothering her completely. She pulled back and wiped at her eyes.
She was still leaned into Shane's side. Ilya tucked her hair behind her ears, taking it as an excuse to look at her face. She looked exhausted, but less guarded, as she didn’t avert her eyes.
"No game tomorrow, yeah?" Shane glanced over to Ilya, who offered a nod in agreement.
"You should not play with a bad night's sleep." He agreed. He didn't mention the shoulder, but he wanted to.
They both braced themselves for her argument back; she hated missing hockey. It never came. It broke his heart more to see her so passive.
"We'll call your therapist tomorrow too, okay? I think seeing her more often is a good start." Shane continued to lay out a plan. It was second nature to him.
"And I think we should leave our phones downstairs at night. It doesn't help the sleep issue to use screens so close to bed."
Mila groaned. That got her attention.
He understood. Screens were always extra hypnotic when Ilya had bad depression days. He knew it all fed into each other.
He could see her argument against this building in her head.
"Good idea, Shane." He cut in before she spoke.
"But that's so stupid, Dad! It's not because of my phone."
"It's not stupid, Malyshka." Ilya shook his head, coming to Shane's defense easily.
"Yes it is!"
Shane caught his eyes while Mila was complaining. He raised his eyebrows and Ilya knew immediately what he was getting at.
He gave Shane a pleading look, which Shane only smiled at. Ilya sighed before nodding, silently agreeing to the plan. They didn't need to discuss it.
"Well, Ilya... What I meant is that I think we should all keep our phones downstairs." He announced. “Yours too.” The asshole was enjoying this.
"What? Why my phone?" He gasped. "Shane, that is not fair."
"You're on it more than me, Papa." Mila jumped in quickly.
"This is stupid rule." He pouted.
"See? Now you think it's stupid." She shook her head.
"It is!" He whined dramatically and waited for her to roll her eyes. “I want my phone in bed.”
He watched Shane hold back a smile when she finally did.
"No, I actually think that makes sense." She decided.
It was usually easier for her to admit Shane had a good idea, if she got to prove Ilya wrong in the process. He didn't mind acting the fool.
He would sacrifice late night Farmville and Clash Royal for her to get some sleep. Maybe he could sneak downstairs for a few rounds anyways.
"Fine! We both can have phone jail downstairs at night." He sighed and watched Mila smile like she got away with something.
Shane was looking between them, his eyes sparkling.
He felt lucky to be able to both receive this look from Shane, and then to be able to watch him give a matching look to their daughter.
He knew he was the luckiest man in the world. To both experience Shane's love firsthand and then to witness what it looks like outside of himself.
"Okay, but no screen before bed rule starts tomorrow. I want to watch a movie until sleepy tea kicks in."
"Fine." Shane yawned and leaned into the cushions.
"Paddington 2?" Ilya suggested.
"That's gonna stress Dad out."
"What? No, it's such a good movie!" Ilya scoffed. He looked to Shane for backup, who looked a bit guilty.
"What did you say about Paddington behind my back?" He narrowed his eyes at Shane.
"Nothing!"
He turned to Mila.
"What did your dad say about my bear movie?"
"That it stressed him out." She yawned. He didn't draw attention to it, but cheered in his head as her blinks got longer.
"Shane? Who is lying? You or our beautiful daughter?"
"Paddington just isn't the best house guest. He floods their house in the first one. It'd be such a headache to clean up after him." Shane admitted.
"He is from jungle! He does not know house rules! He just wants a family, Shane."
Ilya sighed and started navigating the TV to find the movie.
"He used one of their toothbrushes to clean his ears."
"This is all from the first movie."
"Doesn't he go to jail in the second one?"
"He is wrongfully imprisoned."
"Ilya."
"He is! He tries to stop the thief—"
"No, Ilya, look." Shane was smiling.
He looked over from the TV to see Mila sound asleep against Shane's shoulder.
Ilya smiled, "Good thing she has a very boring dad. You put her right to sleep."
"Yeah, right. You were talking more than me."
"Oh, so I'm boring too now?"
"I think so."
"Fine. Whatever makes her sleep."
They stared at each other for a beat.
"We really will figure this out, you know, Ilya. She'll be okay."
"I know. She has you."
"And you," he added.