[It's better that she doesn't ask for help; Saul has no idea what he can do aside from be here for her the way he is now, hold her when she needs to be held, tell her the truth when she needs to hear it and dry her tears if it hurts too much.
He lifts a hand to stroke her hair, then sighs.]
I know.
[Saul's tired, too, exhausted in a way he's never been before. It's not the old, familiar fatigue born from working late nights — this runs much, much deeper, and if Saul were the poetic type, he might be inclined to use the word "soul" to explain it. Because he feels that way all over, through and through.
And he doesn't know what to do about that, either.]
no subject
He lifts a hand to stroke her hair, then sighs.]
I know.
[Saul's tired, too, exhausted in a way he's never been before. It's not the old, familiar fatigue born from working late nights — this runs much, much deeper, and if Saul were the poetic type, he might be inclined to use the word "soul" to explain it. Because he feels that way all over, through and through.
And he doesn't know what to do about that, either.]