When she gets to her feet, his hands itch to help her stay upright when she sways. But he keeps his arms crossed across his chest, tightly, as if he could close himself off and protect himself through sheer force of will. He was big. He was intimidating. He was strong. He was mighty. A wild animal that could not be tamed. Like a lion.

His gaze slipped down to the stuffed lion he had brought her, the one she held under one arm. Something in his features seems to shift from hard lines to lines that bend, lines that are softer.

She wanted him to stay.

Derek rolls his head from side to side, stretching out the corded muscles there. And slowly, his arms uncurl, hands moving to rest on his own hips. "I've learned that when people pity you, it's not about you. It's about them. Whether they don't know how to act or what to say. Whether it's about them wantin' to help but not knowin' how. It's about them. Not you." Not himself. But he would never pity her for what she had told him, and not for most things.

He hesitates just a moment. Then nods. "I'd like to stay." And in that moment, he had needed her to ask, as ready to run for the hills as he had been. Sometimes his own dark emotions overwhelmed him. And that too, had been about him and not her.