Dolce lands. Or, perhaps, his hooves found the floor, and the rest of him caught up. He bows to the once-Housekeeper, bows to Apollo, and the third bow is involuntary. But before the floor can greet him properly a pair of strong arms cuts in, holding him fast. “What was that? Are you okay?” Vasilia asks from somewhere behind him.

You know, now that she mentions it, that is a good question: How is he? Do excuse him a moment, he has to sort through a dozen people to find himself again. But there, just after the finish, and beneath the pile, you’ll find him; dazed, but alive. Alive. Alive! All his heart erupts, joy mingling with shadows of grief until he cannot tell them apart any longer and he’s filled up thrice over. Out pour the tears. There shines the smile. It is done! She did it! She lives again, and he! He’s not crushed! Is this what it’s like, Hera, to bear the darkness that destroyed another? Are our burdens really so light on the shoulders of others?

No. No, his heart aches, for H'san, for Jalia, for every one of them, even as it sings. His heart strains to hold the heady river of emotions from overflowing its banks. Later, it will dry up, and what will he use then to keep himself together? The weight remains heavy. There are limits, after all. “I, I think I need a moment.” He breathes.

“Then.” Her hands are steady. Fortunes of effort are spent to prevent their moving an inch. “Would you care for me to keep holding you?”

He is silent. He is listening. He is feeling his weight settle in her hands, and he is listening. “...I think so. But. Please, just that, for now.”

“As you wish.” She says, and he lets himself rest limp in her grasp. Lots to think about. Lots to think about. Names, that he would not forget. The hole in the Housekeeper’s heart, left by humanity. How long she must have toiled around it. Who else…?

But first, food.

“We have a lunch to make.” Finally, he rises to his hooves, leaning on her arm to keep his knees from wobbling. “May I ask for your assistance?”

“You’re the captain. You shouldn’t have to ask.”

“But if the Captain wants to ask, he can. So. I did.”

Her smile shrinks to a thin, pale line. “I. Should warn you, I’m only a week past learning what a broiler is. Don’t expect any miracles.”

“I don’t know…” Dolce watches a god weep for joy at a plate of food. His hand squeezes her arm. “Miracles do seem to be in style these days.”