"Thank you," Alistair says, his always-quiet joking drawl a little quieter and lower-energy. It's a time that says I know this is serious and I'm joking anyway rather than I have no idea I'm being inappropriate. "I needed to wash this shirt. Now I can just hang it to dry."

He keeps a hand on her shoulder and looks her over, as if concerned she might be physically hurt, too.

"Want to sit down for a bit? I have meat pie. And if you don't want to talk I can read out loud."