"Somehow," Nux agrees with a quirked, crooked smile, though it warms as she touches him and he finds himself leaning into it like he's turning towards the sun itself. The comfort in that one simple touch is incredible; it disappears every memory of pain and grit and thirst stretching from the ruined war rig to here. If this was the only thing he was spared for, he thinks -- if he dropped dead right now -- it would still be worth it.

But he doesn't, so he brings his hand up to twine through her thick red hair, marveling at the feel of it between his fingers, and moves in to rest his forehead against hers. "I'd hoped..." he begins, but fades off when he realizes how many ways there are to end the sentence. He'd hoped they'd made it; he'd hoped they took the Citadel; he'd hoped she was well. And even as he'd skidded into the canyon wall, there had been a part of him that had hoped he would see her again. "I'd hoped," he says again softly, and leaves it there.