<span style="font-family: 'Book Antiqua'"><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#99ff99">"I do not feel strong at present," Cameron whispered into her hair.  He couldn't speak above that hoarse sound, not yet.  "I feel -- Gods above, I miss them."  And abandoning restraint as he'd asked her to do, he wept into her hair, clinging to her as the storm of grief swamped him, broke over his head and left him utterly exhausted but curiously at peace.<br/>
<br/>
The tears slowed and stopped, as did the racking sobs, but he continued to hold her close.  "We should call your ladies back in," he said eventually, his voice still rough.  "There will be eyebrows raised enough without us being shut up here alone for hours."  But though it would be the correct and proper thing, he did not release her.  <br/>
<br/>
"Thank you," he whispered at length.  "For welcoming me home, for... for letting me share your grief."  He ran a hand up and down her back, a familiar comfort.  "I had worried... I feared that you would not wish my presence, that I would be only a reminder of what you had lost.  I am grateful beyond words to have been wrong."</span></span>