How many funerals had Tommy attended...how many wives, mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, children had he tried to comfort...with a hug, a handshake, a He was a good man, a He was a hero.

It was never enough. But Tommy always seemed so goddamned solid. They found some reassurance in that. He kept it together for them, even as he ignored the way he was falling apart.

Sitting still, with one knee drawn up a bit, he keeps quiet, until Kate finds it in herself to respond. And he's glad that she can still manage to smile, faltering and uncertain as it may be, and even laugh a little. He would help her do at least that -- hell, he'd been making her laugh almost all day, and if that's all he can do, then he'll do it. Tommy may be a complete mess on the inside, but sometimes, sometimes he can put that aside for the sake of someone else.

He glances down at their hands, the grass poking through their fingers.

With a sigh, he gazes back out toward the lake, and as he shifts slightly, he presses his shoulder against hers.

"I could probably try."

It's as noncommittal a statement anybody could ever make, but when he turns to look at her, she'll see it's an honest one -- and that he's a bad idea that's destined to fail.

But nobody can ever say that he doesn't try.