Despite all the years they have spent apart, it doesn't surprise her when Five all but discards her concern. It's ingrained in them to do this, to shrug off blood and injuries, because they hardly mattered in this household. There's an infirmary upstairs for that very reason - taking injured children to a hospital would require care, instructions on bed rest, suggestions for being mindful of whatever ailment plagued them. Reginald, though, always had a different idea. He wanted them to be strong; to shrug off injuries, to disregard the way they felt. They always had to keep going, no matter what, and apparently Five still remembers that lesson, all these years later (even if he still looks just how he looked the last time she saw him).
A muscle in her jaw twitches at his response, a silent 'I don't believe you,' but one that she doesn't voice. Not yet, anyway, since it doesn't look like he's tracking blood throughout the house, so for now that has to suffice.
Looking down at the mug, she nods. "Yeah. You were right, there's no coffee in this house, so..." Never mind the cigarettes tucked in her coat. Not that she thinks he'll care, exactly, but her dirty little habit is not exactly something she likes to boast about, either. As he cleans himself up with a napkin, she glances towards the coffee maker but notices that nothing is brewing. She walks over to it, as if to check if it's missing something, but when she notices the lack of filter or coffee in it, she removes the lid of her coffee and pours half of it into the mug that Five had left behind. She hadn't touched it yet, after all, and while it may not be the quantity either of them wanted, at least it's something.
"It's not doctored up," she assures him as she offers him the mug of, before pulling up a chair so that she can sit. Going up to her room feels as unappealing as being anywhere else in the house, so for now she'll just stay here before she ventures to her usual hiding spot to smoke.
"And, yeah," she agrees with a sigh. "Me, too. But I couldn't get a flight out of here sooner than tomorrow night, so I'll be sticking around for another day." She can't help but worry about what that will mean, considering it's causing her to miss a therapy session, but it had been due to her father's funeral. Patrick would understand this was out of her control, won't he?
She takes a sip of the coffee, focusing on the way it burns as it goes down her throat as if that will somehow distract her from those thoughts.
"How are you?" Before he can respond with his usual I'm fine, she gives him a look. "Humor me a little. You just time traveled, and now you're here with blood on your shirt. I won't ask about the blood, but in general. How are you holding up, with all this?"
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A muscle in her jaw twitches at his response, a silent 'I don't believe you,' but one that she doesn't voice. Not yet, anyway, since it doesn't look like he's tracking blood throughout the house, so for now that has to suffice.
Looking down at the mug, she nods. "Yeah. You were right, there's no coffee in this house, so..." Never mind the cigarettes tucked in her coat. Not that she thinks he'll care, exactly, but her dirty little habit is not exactly something she likes to boast about, either. As he cleans himself up with a napkin, she glances towards the coffee maker but notices that nothing is brewing. She walks over to it, as if to check if it's missing something, but when she notices the lack of filter or coffee in it, she removes the lid of her coffee and pours half of it into the mug that Five had left behind. She hadn't touched it yet, after all, and while it may not be the quantity either of them wanted, at least it's something.
"It's not doctored up," she assures him as she offers him the mug of, before pulling up a chair so that she can sit. Going up to her room feels as unappealing as being anywhere else in the house, so for now she'll just stay here before she ventures to her usual hiding spot to smoke.
"And, yeah," she agrees with a sigh. "Me, too. But I couldn't get a flight out of here sooner than tomorrow night, so I'll be sticking around for another day." She can't help but worry about what that will mean, considering it's causing her to miss a therapy session, but it had been due to her father's funeral. Patrick would understand this was out of her control, won't he?
She takes a sip of the coffee, focusing on the way it burns as it goes down her throat as if that will somehow distract her from those thoughts.
"How are you?" Before he can respond with his usual I'm fine, she gives him a look. "Humor me a little. You just time traveled, and now you're here with blood on your shirt. I won't ask about the blood, but in general. How are you holding up, with all this?"