"I'll spot you," Irene assured her with a little wave of her hand, which she turned into a delicate hail to get their server's attention. "Same way you've always kept me from putting my eye out in the forge, yeah? I wouldn't let you not get the meat-stick, love, promise."

And again, that was almost -- you know, a whole feeling that wasn't necessarily about this but about a whole larger context -- but also, sincerely, Irene would eat her own hair before she just sat by and watched Amaya not get the giant meat-stick-thing.