Lancelot watches her, his gaze soft, finally feeling settled in himself. Just a few months ago, less than half a year, he would not have thought anything like this could be possible. Not just the mansion in all its unlikelihood, but his feelings for Susan, their ... he isn't sure what to call this, what is between them. He only knows that it is real.

He has seen in her something akin to what he feels; he won't let himself get caught up in regretting isolating himself the last few days, but he knows now that, should anything else happen, he won't manage things the same way.

He watches her work the brush through her dark hair, and lets himself be soothed by being in her company, comfortable, safe.