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This is Rosita. I'll hit you back when I can.

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"I don't, either," he tells her honestly. "But I have hope enough for both of us. I have faith enough for both of us. And when you falter, I will be here to remind you of it. Right now, you are low. And that's alright."

She's silent and still for a few long moments, trying to decide how to respond, if she should; she wants to stay. She wants to go. She wants -

She doesn't know.

"I can see why he loves you," she finally says, quietly.

That hits him hard in the chest, and he looks up to her at the immensely personal and telling compliment.

"That means a lot to me," he finally says.

"And I'm glad you came here, Rosita. Even if it was hard "

It's so foreign to her, this concept that people can actually love each other enough to compensate when one isn't perfect; that caring about them holds even when it becomes hard, even problematic.

Well, she knows she did. Glenn and Maggie did. She never found anyone else, though, but maybe she just wasn't good enough. That's the thought she keeps coming back to: if she'd been good enough to love the way Glenn loved Maggie, the way Godric loves Jesus, then it would have happened. Instead -

Godric says her name and she shakes her head to clear it, but barely hears what else he said. "Did he really agree to go back with you?"

He nods.

"He did. He was worried about intruding and let me know that he would want to wander, but I like that. I prefer that. I want him to see the world."

He sits forward again.

"I can keep him safe."

You won't need to, she thinks. He'll keep himself safe.

But wanting to? She nods, looks away, nods again.

"Good," she says, softly. "Good." And, unfolding her arms and pushing to her feet, "I need to go."

"I know," he assures her. He can sense it there, sense her restlessness. "It's alright. I'll find you again later."

He stands up and puts a hand on her arm.

"I'll be around," she agrees, going still when he touches her arm, though she doesn't shrug him off.

She puts her hand over his, squeezes, and then picks up her pack. "Somewhere."

"I know. Wait, Rosita. One more thing."

He turns and walks into his kitchen, bringing out a key. "I want you to have this. It's the key to this cabin. If you want a place to go during the day or night, you can let yourself in. No questions asked. Unless you're - hurt. You can use the kitchens, my bathroom and shower - whatever you need."

She hesitates; she waits. He bids her do so and she does, and when she sees the key something in her face softens ever so slightly.

She's still guarded though, holding out her hand.

"What do you mean, unless I'm hurt?" she asks, though she thinks she knows. She just needs to be clear.

A small smile.

"Then I will ask questions. But not many."

If she's hurt, she'll stitch herself up; if she's injured, she'll make bandages from her clothes, boil water to wash them in, and bind her own wounds. This is what she has done, largely, since the world ended.

She runs her thumb along the teeth of the key, not yet closing her fingers.

"Archer and Jesus come and go too," she points out.

"They do. Archer less so when I'm not around. Eric, too, but also not unless I'm around." He's always prowling for something or other.

He knows that might make the deal a little different, but he wants to give her this trust. Someone he isn't bound to. Someone he isn't romantic with. Someone who is just as important as the three people they've named.

Ask the questions, she thinks, even though she's already halfway through the list. Jesus wants her around, she knows. Godric too.

Her throat feels tight but she holds the key back out to him.

"Clear it with your people."

Godric shakes his head. They'll do what he says, but he knows that's not the answer she wants or needs.

"Keep it. I'll let you know when I do and then I don't have to exchange it again."

"Or," she counters, a firm note of warning in her voice, "Don't tease me with something I might not be able to have. Take the key back. Give it to me when the people that are already most important to you don't have a problem with it."

There it is again.

"You are no less important to me. And I am asking you to trust this, Rosita. Trust me with this. This task only."

"Don't," she says, immediately.

"Don't fucking do that." She'd been waffling before, but now she turns and tosses the key onto the table, slides her arm through the other strap of the pack and starts for the door.

"I know I'm a mess, and I know you're trying, and I know - don't do that. Don't say shit you think I want to hear.

He stands up and his hand raps on the table. Not aggressive, but frustrated.

"Ro, stop."

He cannot and will not let the emotions get the better of him.

"I am asking you to do one task. I am asking you to try. For me. Now. You do not have to believe me, but I have never given you an indication that I am - am - blowing smoke up your ass."

He hopes that's the right expression.

"You stop!" she snaps, already turned back around when she hears the impact with the table.

"You think I'm not trying? Does this not look like trying to you? You think I'm out here just talking to anyone? You think anyone else has gotten a fucking apology from me?"

"That is a separate issue," he tells her gently. Softly. "And I appreciate it. So take another step, Ro. Don't go backwards on me."

"It's not."

And she has already slid so far backwards she's a little ashamed of how easy it was, but they didn't touch on that, they haven't needed to, so she lets it go now too.

"At least it's not that simple. Don't think that of all the things I might believe, that I think I hold a candle to a list that includes two men you would consider partners, and... Eric."

She has no quick summary for the bond between a vampire and his sire, and she doesn't try right now.

"You are - " He falters a moment, finding his words as he sits back down.

"You are everything I would ever want in a friend. In a sister. In a daughter. You are family to me in more ways than you understand. That will always take priority. To me."

Something in her dark eyes narrows for a moment, but then her expression softens.

Then it softens further to something pained, something longing, and she swallows and looks away.

"...I want to be able to believe that, Godric. I do." She wants nothing more, in fact, and that's why it feels so dangerous. "I don't know how. I just told you, I don't know how."

"Then my suggestion is to go through the motions. Take the key, at the very least. That's how you start. Actions that may help shape your thoughts."

He looks up to her from where he finally sits.