There's an eddy of guilt in the wash of relief that runs through Hawke at that slow grip of Chris' hand. The dig of his friend's fingers into his arm is welcome and Hawke can't help but hold him tighter in an encompassing hug not unlike the same he'd given the night before. "I know... I'm sorry, I know."

There's a stinging at the corners of his eyes but he staunchly ignores it, swallowing down what he's feeling before it drowns him. "We can figure it out. And until then, don't worry about anyone else getting past this. You're not king here, your concern doesn't have to be your subjects. We'll sort ourselves out, and if we can help you do the, or at least show you we're here to catch you as you try, then that's enough."

He tucks Chris in against his chest, mostly so he can wrap around him in a bulwark against the ghosts of men who no longer can touch Chris but try still, but a little so his friend doesn't see the few tears that escape his tightly closed eyes. He takes a deep breath, putting that away for now. It's not helpful. It's not useful. And it's not easy, either, for the tremble he can't help behind the breath as he forces himself to be still.

"We'll figure it out. You don't have to do it alone." His voice, at least, is certain. Asserting reality into the shape it should be where Chris can heal.