He stayed quiet as Pippa moved about and then out of the room, listening to the sounds she made with his eyes still closed. Rory knew he should say something, should join in the strained little dance of no-we're-all-right-really, but he was just too damnably tired to pretend. He felt as if all his vitality had been sucked out of him by a straw, leaving him a dry, brittle husk. If he moved, he might crumble or blow away.

So he sat still, considering his options. Of course he'd find out soon enough if Pippa even wanted him there anymore, which might narrow his options considerably. He had no desire to hurry that decision.

After a while he drew his legs back toward his chair, giving Pippa more room to move when she returned.