In ten years … she can hardly think of ten days, much less ten years. How do you think of the long-term in such a strange world? When she thinks so far ahead, somehow what comes to mind is this: their mad little family, even more so, intensified. The boys (she knows she would still think of them so) all on Tony’s long curving couch, wrestling over tablets and remotes and game controllers and pieces of armour, and she curled in a chair nearby, throwing little pillows at likely targets; all of them heaped together in the biggest bed Tony can find at night, because someone (no one actually knows who) decided it was just silly for them to all be in separate rooms when you’d have to roll dice to figure out who was likely to be in what bed any given night.

Tony takes people in and makes them family, will they or nil they, and so does she.