There was an ebb and flow between them. A softness that Lazarus could inhabit in her company alone. Where her hands held his face, he melted a little. Her words were like hands, too, trying to massage the tension out of him. Soft, but solid, touching things he hadn't really known existed. Trying to reassure him, to soothe him. It worked, to a degree; but it still stood that she had brought it up at all, that she was so utterly lonely when he was gone for such long stretches of time. Lazarus of all people ought to know that the promise of eternity could not grant eternal patience.
He could say no, and she would be in the same place. He could say yes, and he would hate it, but she would be happier. And that... felt like a worthy sacrifice.
His face turned some in her hands, kissing a palm, holding it against his skin. Quiet, for many seconds, as he turned these thoughts over in his mind, gaze resting somewhere over her shoulder.
"I want to keep you happy. I want you to... do things that'll make you happy. So. I reckon... I don't mind givin' it a shot."
He did. He did mind, he hated it. But there was a seed of comfort in it, in knowing that he could ask her to put an end to it all and she would. Probably.