"I got you, darlin'," he answers and whether he's referring to the alcohol or to being here with her, he doesn't specify. Either way, he's not sure the words matter. He is here and there's no much he's good at when it comes to comfort, but he has no intention of leaving here alone. He'll drink her alcohol, he'll sit with her, he'll listen to her talk or he'll sit in silence, whatever it is she wants to do.

He pours another drink and downs most of it, then leans back against the booth with his arm still around her.

"You know, seven hundred years is a long time," he says. "You lose a lot of people in that kind of life."

He's not trying to compare. There's no sense in something like that. He only wants her to know it's something he understands maybe better than anyone would want to.