#me when characters get to HEAL

[lanternlightss]

no but. do you ever think about how collei witnessed the worst of this world, who breached the sun’s light after so long with the thought that it doesn’t matter, the world—the people—they will not listen, that she fight, fight, fights her way through, who resigned herself to fighting and biting until she collapsed, who—at the first contact of genuine connection, the first person who extended their hand out to her with a smile—didn’t know what to do? who was skittish, furious, backed into a corner, and of who got so excited to do something the others around her got to do, to show off a skill, who got disappointed when the one she wanted to impressed wasn’t there. who got to think—maybe, this, the clawing, isn’t what i wanted. who followed that smile. who now reaches her own hand out to others who might think like her, a light in the dark, “i’m here. it’s okay.” who continues that branch of kindness those before her gave to her. do you . do you ever think about collei

[greenglowinspooks]

(DCXDP) The obligations of a rogue versus those of a parent (Pt. 5)

—

Tw: torture scene (GiW agent receiving), general angst, canon-typical violence (DC), nobody is having a good time

Will be crossposted to AO3 eventually

(Masterlist/subscription post)

—

It was pretty easy for Danny to forget that Dr. Crane was a rogue at times.

Most of the time he wasn’t comically evil, like what he’d expect of a Gotham rogue. He was helping Danny, even if only because he didn’t want to be taken in by the GiW as well. He was even downright nice most of the time, or at least neutral.

Sure, he had a strange obsession with fear and psychology, but that wasn’t really out of the ordinary for Danny. It didn’t feel like living with a rogue, just like…staying with a distant relative, or something.

He seemed like just an ordinary person.

Today, though, Danny was brought back to reality.

The GiW agent they’d tracked down together writhed on the ground, screaming in pain and terror. Scarecrow was sat a few feet away, setting up a syringe of the antidote he’d made.

After a few more moments, he injected the man with the antidote, watching him like a hawk the entire time.

Suddenly, the man surged forward, lunging at Scarecrow with a feral scream.

Unluckily for him, though, he was still weak from the fear toxin in his system, and from the beatings he’d received prior. Scarecrow easily wrestled him to the ground, settling himself on the broad part of the agent’s back with a vice grip on one of his arms.

“Let’s try again,” he said sharply, all of the warmth Danny had grown used to gone from his voice. “Where is the GiW base of operations?”

The agent took several shuddering breaths before spitting at Scarecrow, defiance and hatred written all over his face.

For just a moment, the room was utterly silent.

“Fine, have it your way.”

Scarecrow began to twist the man’s arm further. It wasn’t long before the agent began to squirm, then writhe, beneath him. Danny’s stomach churned.

“You know,” Scarecrow began, almost conversationally, “there are plenty of jobs that one can get without the use of their legs, especially with the level of education you have. Anything that doesn’t involve hard labor, really.”

The man’s face was beginning to turn red in his struggle not to scream. He took in gasping breaths, the way that his mouth moved almost reminding Danny of a goldfish.

(He felt awful for the comparison, but it was true.)

“However,” Scarecrow continued, “I find you’d be rather hard-pressed to find a job without the use of your arms. Especially in a place like Gotham, where you can always be replaced by someone eager to do your job for even less money. Of course, you could most likely coast off of savings and severance pay for a while, but…”

He leaned closer to the man’s head, his voice lowering.

“Would you be able to live like that? To live with yourself, if you no longer have a purpose?”

He allowed the agent a few seconds of rest before increasing the pressure on his arm. The agent gasped, letting out a strangled hiss. His arm bones were making fascinating noises in response to the strain. Danny felt sick.

“You seem like a rather driven young man. I’m sure your family would hate to see you unmotivated, directionless. Would they resent you, do you think?”

“Fuck you, you—”

The man was cut off by his own scream as Scarecrow finally allowed his arm to break, audibly splintering into thousands of useless shards of bone.

He had the exact pressure memorized. Clearly, he had done this before.

This was wrong. This was wrong.

Shouldn’t Danny step in, do something?

“That won’t heal cleanly. Even with the best medical care in the world, you’ll end up with permanent damage.”

The man below him wheezed and sobbed, choking on air as Scarecrow let go of his arm carelessly, letting it flop back onto the ground.

“Just the sort of thing something like you deserves,” Scarecrow hissed, his voice cold.

“You tortured a child, and you enjoyed it. You laughed with your friends about it. In your notes, one of your friends complained about the screaming,” Scarecrow brought his leg around, grinding his boot into the man’s broken arm. He howled in agony, writhing uncontrollably.

“Was it inconvenient to him, do you think? Too loud? If you were joking about it, clearly you thought so, too. I could fix that as well.”

He drew out another needle, this one once again filled with fear toxin.

“Scarecrow, wait,” Danny choked out.

Scarecrow turned to look at him.

Even his posture was different than usual. He looked… stiff, more like an animal than a man. When he tilted his head at Danny in a silent question, it looked like something in his neck had snapped, his head lolling to the side.

Danny wondered if he was consciously moving like that, or if it was habit at this point.

“You—we don’t have to do this. We can get information some other way, right? You don’t have to…”

Danny looked down at the GiW agent below Scarecrow. He didn’t even have it in him to glare up at Danny like he had before. Instead he laid limply on the ground, tremors rolling through his body uncontrollably.

“We’ve exhausted every other option and you know it,” Scarecrow said, his voice low, “this is the only way we can move forward.”

“Still, I—I don’t,” Danny swallowed, his throat tight, “this isn’t—this isn’t right. Isn’t there some other way to do this? Like—a truth serum, or something?”

“Truth serums are notoriously unreliable. They’re almost as bad as lie detectors. We’re much more likely to get a reliable result from this.”

Danny just stared at the GiW agent and his splintered, ruined arm. He began to weakly wriggle in Scarecrow’s grasp, which was graciously ignored.

He vaguely remembered himself doing the same thing when he was on the operating table; even if he knew there was no chance of escape, he still thrashed and screamed, desperate to get away. The jagged I-shaped incision on his torso felt uncomfortably warm.

What was there left to say?

“The Bat does the same thing at times, you know,” Scarecrow said, “him and the rest of his brood. By using my toxin, I’m actually lessening the amount of permanent damage that I’m doing. Physically.”

“Still, that doesn’t make it right,” Danny said desperately. “Even if—even if everyone in the world did this, it wouldn’t make it right.”

Scarecrow hummed.

They were both silent for a moment.

His next words were gentle, absurdly so when compared to the scene in front of him.

“I would love an alternative. But…”

He shrugged, hand coming to rest on the break in the GiW agent’s arm. Even without applying any pressure, the man stopped squirming immediately.

“There aren’t any other options,” Danny repeated, his voice flat and his body numb.

“Yes,” Scarecrow said. “I’m sorry.”

There was a pause. No one moved a muscle. Eventually Scarecrow spoke again, his voice strangely empty.

“You can stand outside and keep watch, if you’d like. At such a short distance their radars won’t pick us up.”

Danny said nothing, leaving the room silently.

He sat outside for quite a while.

He was grateful that Scarecrow had, with his help, dragged the agent to one of his previous hideouts. It was soundproofed, after all.

He was glad that he didn’t have to hear the rest of what Scarecrow did to the man.

After what felt like an eternity, Dr. Crane left the building, joining him outside. He guided Danny back to his beat up old truck and they drove home in silence.

“Did you at least…do you know where they are, now?” Danny asked as they entered the apartment, his voice small.

“They didn’t share the details of all of their locations with any one person. I know where one of their locations are, but not their main base of operations.”

Danny felt disgusted. With himself, with Dr. Crane, with the GiW.

He was disgusted by the agent, too. Did he just hate the restless dead so much that he would prefer to be tortured than to give them the upper hand? Did he really think he was in the right?

Was there a chance that he was?

Danny felt very, very small, and very stupid. Stupid and weak and cowardly.

“Danny,” Dr. Crane spoke, his voice soft.

“I’m truly sorry that this is happening to you. I really, truly wish that you didn’t have to endure my company. I…”

He fell quiet. Danny wondered if he was just saying this to pacify him, or if he truly meant it. He wondered if it really mattered in the end.

After a few moments of silence, Dr. Crane sighed, looking truly pained.

“I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

Danny was quiet.

“I’m going to bed early,” he finally said, turning away and leaving without a second glance.

—

[heybiji]

dande's dying btw

[moeblob]

They're soulmates in every single universe and I miss them at the most random times.

[welcometogrouchland]

[ID: An animatic of Stephanie Brown as Robin set to Tears over Beers by modern baseball. The images are paired with the lyrics. Stephanie as spoiler staring longingly at Bruce, Tim and Cass on a rooftop is paired with "he needed more than me". A compilation of sketches of Steph as robin go with "im friendly and thoughtful and quite awfully pretty". Finally a redraw of Steph's firing as Robin is paired with "but he needed more than me". End ID]

been trying to finish a comic for. Weeks now (just been hitting a lot blocks) and quickly threw this together as a break from it! Do you guys ever think about Stephanie Brown…

[good-beansdraws]

Fe Aspec Week Day 2: Friendship

An indulgent piece for today!!!! :') It's no secret the trio's friendship has always had a really special place in my heart, and I've been grateful for the taste of acceptance and contentment it brought me during (and long after) I played the game. To see them find the most caring and complete friendship in each other was truly inspiring.

Here's to all of us finding the people that make us "never long for companionship throughout the rest of our days" <3

[baldurs-gate-official]

Seeing Astarion and thinking

[severinaprince]

Have any of you ever had this heart-wrenching experience where you see an amazing fanart of some character, that dies in canon relatively young, but is depicted in their would-have-been old age? Fanart where the character has grey hairs in their head, fanart with expression lines and textured skin, where it is undeniable that the character lived.

I remember the first time when that happened to me with a character I adored and really wished they could have had the opportunity to live and enjoy life, not just survive.

That shit brought me to tears.

[chiaruscuro]

i have this headcanon where during pre-canon and canon, fugo strictly limits himself to classical music. classical piano is organized and strict. he's taught how to read notes from a page and follow each of them in order, one by one. when something as slight as hitting the wrong chord can lead to the entire performance getting thrown off and piano keys getting struck senselessly with angry fingers. everything spiraling to a jumble of nonsensical noise and frustration. does anything sound familiar? however, i like to think that he started developing an interest in jazz post phf as some part of purple haze distortion. because, unlike classical music, jazz is free and is built entirely on improvised mistakes. hitting the wrong note doesn't matter anymore because it could lead to something else, something that sounds better. something that sounds happier. and it's his way of unlearning the flawed ways he was taught as a child.

[moth-party]

Hey. D you think that perhaps Sebastian’s metabolism is just fucked to all hell and that his human-ish torso looks absolutely rake thin partly due to him not eating a proper meal for years + the caloric intake his tail demands

Oh also long hair keep seeing long hair and i am loving it (he just sucks ass at cutting it so he’ll let it grow out until he cant take it anymore)

[nartml]

Saw a comment describe killugon as 'born to be brothers, forced to be best friends'.

And I just have to say that, out of all the things that have never happened, that has never happened the most.

[wildwolf-fandoms]

In HTF fandom, you can know who to trust and not trust just by listening/reading what they think of some of the characters

"I love Fliqpy and Flippy but the raccoon who implied to be poor and is mentally ill is the spawn of evil for stealing, killing his brother, and `making illogical choices`. Aka when he is being a piece of shit Kleptomanic like the show intended"

"Don't get me wrong I love Handy but I don't understand why he is complaining when Russell has it worse."

"I don't understand why Petunia is always overreacting. Can't she just calm down for once?"

"I don't get why these characters trust Mole/Lumpy/Flippy/Lammy when they are DANGEROUS and SHOULD BE LOCKED UP."

Thanks for proving that disabled people can't trust you 👍

[bruciemilf]

I think an underappreciated motive for Bruce / Batman to not murder the Joker after he killed Jason is that it would, in a sense, mean Joker won. Like, yeah the Joker would be dead but he would also be laughing himself silly that he was the one who made the Bat break his code.

Bruce sparing the Joker was not because he didn't love Jason enough to kill him, but because he refused to let the Joker take anything else from him; he took his son, but he would not take his honor, his morality, his code. He would not give Joker the satisfaction.

Yeah! I think, ultimately, DC said it best, -- one death, two deaths, three deaths, -- whatever you pick, everybody loses. It was a no win situation from the start and specifically designed to have no satisfactory ending

[t-u-i-t-c]

"Please... Take good care of him."

[pixl-place]

i’d honestly be really interested to see why (if they do) people would ship kevin/thea bc honestly to me it seems so out of character. the whole trajectory of kevin dating her and his kid going to the nest honestly feels like a big reason why some of the fandom still consider him a coward and a wet blanket. like the beginning of tkm he’s working so hard to become his own person and distance himself from that place and then yet he’s supposed to go right back ?? it doesn’t make sense. even kevin/allison or kevin/renee would make more sense if we’re talking straight ships because they would both recognize the other’s fight to become a new and better person and fight the trauma that tries to drag them down. literally kevin could end up with almost anyone else and it would work. it also would’ve been interesting to see thea as an example of what happens when you leave the nest and follow the exact path tetsuji laid out but that kinda invalidates itself by just making her “kevin’s gf” but also not really explaining their relationship in a way that makes sense so her character just becomes less meaningful overall anyways hashtag let kevin have relationships not tied to his trauma and let him heal 2024

[officialrapunzelfitzherbert]

maybe next time

word count: 2.5k

fandom: buffy the vampire slayer

characters: tara maclay & rupert giles

summary: tara attempts to break the ice with giles after the birthday incident with her family.

preview:

Tara saw what Mr. Giles had with Buffy. She saw what he had with the whole group. She knew just how badly she wanted that, and it felt so big and powerful that she wasn't sure if she could ever touch it. He didn't know her that way. She didn't really know him that way, either.

She might never see her father again.

a/n i do not have an ao3 account and do not remember my ff.net password so yall are getting my first fic since 2012 on this webbed site have fun everybody. perhaps i will write again in another 12 years <3

In no particular order, Tara had three goals for her trip to the Magic Box.

Goal #1: Formally apologize to Mr. Giles for the spell that got his shop attacked by demons and for involving him in the family drama that followed.

Goal #2: Have a real one-on-one conversation with Mr. Giles.

Goal #3 (optional): If he's open to it, get a job at the Magic Box to get to know Mr. Giles better.

She'd had it all mapped out. She'd been taking notes and rehearsing whenever no one was looking. She had a whole story about being on an errand for Willow so that she had an excuse if she needed to make a quick exit. She knew exactly which crystal she was going to buy, exactly what coffee order she had to pick up on her way back to their dorm, and exactly where she would hide to look busy browsing if she started to panic.

The truth was that Tara adored Mr. Giles. Unfortunately, she was painfully aware of why. It didn't help that Willow had been dropping hints that the two of them should be closer ever since the recent birthday incident with her father. It wasn't that Tara didn't appreciate the encouragement, but every time Willow mentioned his name and gave her that Knowing Willow Look, it just felt so important that the pressure got the tiniest bit debilitating.

Tara saw what Mr. Giles had with Buffy. She saw what he had with the whole group. She knew just how badly she wanted that, and it felt so big and powerful that she wasn't sure if she could ever touch it. He didn't know her that way. She didn't really know him that way, either.

She might never see her father again.

The last thing Tara wanted was to embarrass herself in front of Mr. Giles by letting him see how much she wanted him to like her. She knew she was projecting. But every day that passed without her saying a word to him was starting to feel like another nail in a coffin. If she averted her eyes from him one more time, she was sure he'd think she hated him. That or that she was terrified of him - not entirely untrue, but not in the way he probably thought. Maybe if they started working together while the shop was still new and there were tasks to complete, it would help them break through whatever polite-off they were having.

Before her birthday, she'd almost given up on being his friend. But now she had two pieces of evidence that it wasn't a lost cause:

Exhibit A: He'd stood up to her father for her.

Exhibit B: He gave her a birthday present.

He still hardly knew her. But it was proof that he cared. She wasn't imagining that, as much as the self-conscious worms in her brain kept trying to tell her she must have been. She was there. She saw it. She had the crystal ball on her desk. That was real.

If there was ever a window, it was now.

So she found herself at the Magic Box replaying her script over and over in her head. The plan was to get right into it so she wouldn't have time to overthink it, but as she walked in to see Mr. Giles and Anya in the middle of a semi-heated but clearly petty argument, she realized this wasn't a scenario she'd planned for.

As Mr. Giles heard the door open and made a split-second of awkward eye contact with her, Tara gave a weak smile and a wave. He smiled back politely but his attention very quickly went back to Anya, who hadn't stopped talking long enough to take a breath, let alone notice that someone else was there.

Tara waited about two seconds before making a beeline to her hiding spot among the books.

She'd made it 3 pages into a book she already owned by the time Anya let out a long dramatic sigh and went downstairs to storage. She took a deep breath. Tara liked Anya, but it was always hard to predict what she was going to say. If she wanted to eliminate as many variables as she could, she had to do this now.

Acting as natural as possible, Tara walked over to the crystals. Even though she was expecting it, she still flinched a little when she heard a voice calling from behind the counter.

“Sorry, Tara, did you need anything?”

“Hi, Mr. Giles,” Tara replied, “Oh, I was just here to pick something up for Willow, she's in class right now so…”

Tara fought back a wince as she heard herself speak and mentally updated her list.

Goal #4: Figure out a way to organically stop calling him Mr. Giles.

She'd already said it once today, so it might be too obvious if she dropped the “Mr.” in the same conversation, but maybe by the next time they talked, they'd be familiar enough that he wouldn't notice.

Keeping that in the back of her mind, she forced herself to get started on goal #3:

“Oh, but while I'm here, I was actually just…” Tara stammered, fidgeting with the crystal she'd picked up as her script escaped her, “well, I wanted to ask if… I’m happy to help out if you need-”

“Of course,” said Giles before she could finish, “Well, you have, you've- everything you've done for Buffy, for all of us-”

"No, I-” Tara stopped herself for a second and reminded herself that he was giving her a compliment that she needed to acknowledge. “Yeah, always. I just meant... In the shop, if you’re looking for an extra set of hands for anything, I'm available."

"Oh, well, if you're looking for a job…” Giles paused in a way that made Tara's heart sink.

He was looking for the kindest way to say no.

“Well,” he continued, “Anya's not one for taking days off, I’m afraid, so there's not really a position- that is to say the budget at this stage is still- but-”

“Oh, that's okay,” Tara interrupted so he wouldn't have to come up with any more reasons to justify it, “No worries. I was just-”

“And I wouldn't want to interfere with your studies-”

“Totally get it.”

“Perhaps during the holidays, I might have some extra work for you. It's a bit early to say for sure, but I expect I'll need everyone's help on Halloween if nothing else.”

“Maybe then, yeah.”

“I'm sorry that's all I can really-”

“No, it's no big deal. I was just saying if you needed… And I mean, I'm not so great with the customers anyways.”

Giles blinked. “You've met Anya?”

Tara chuckled softly and felt her shoulders relax just a little.

“Well,” Giles continued, “if anything, keeping the floor stocked is probably where I'll need the most backup. You'll certainly be the first to know.”

“Yeah, of course.”

There was a brief pause. This counted as a one-one-one conversation, didn't it? That was goal #2. Goal #3 of getting a job had been eliminated and #4 was for the next time they talked. So all that was left for today was #1: apologize. That was the real challenge. She wasn't sure if this was going to naturally come up, but if she could just spit it out and leave as quickly as possible, she wouldn't have to see his reaction.

“Speaking of holidays,” said Giles, “you've got somewhere to go?”

This caught Tara off-guard.

“Huh?”

She hadn't been looking at him since he'd politely rejected her, but this got her to finally look up and see a softness in his face that she wasn't prepared for.

“Yeah,” she said when she finally remembered how to speak, “Willow and I haven't made a plan yet exactly, but whatever she's up to. I know she wants us to do my first Hanukkah this year, so I'm excited for that.”

Tara felt her voice drop what felt like a full octave when she started talking about Willow earnestly. That subject was always easy. Giles clearly noticed this and smiled.

“That's wonderful.”

“You did Thanksgiving at your place last year, right?”

“Well, Buffy did, it was my place, but that was a bit of a-”

“Oh, I don't mean to-” Tara stammered, hoping she hadn't just accidentally invited herself into his home. Sometimes she spoke just to make sure words were coming out of her mouth and would realize at the end of the sentence that she might have implied something she didn't mean.

“I guess you wouldn't really celebrate it,” Tara went on, “Willow usually doesn't either.”

Giles gave that polite laugh that was more of a quick exhale. Tara knew from her own experience that this meant he didn't know how to respond to that.

Was it rude to assume he would celebrate American Thanksgiving? Should she be asking about English holidays?

Goal #5: Learn about English holidays later.

A few agonizing seconds passed as Tara desperately tried to flip through her mental script for the next talking point that felt the most organic, but Giles spoke before she could.

“Well, last year, we all got together at Buffy's with her family for Christmas,” he said, “I'm sure they'll be hosting again this year. Of course you're welcome to come.”

Tara smiled. “That sounds nice.”

“You're not the only one with a, um… difficult family situation. You'll fit right in, I’m sure.”

Tara didn't know how to process when anyone said something that implied they'd been thinking of her, much less someone she admired as much as Giles. She also didn't know much about the other Scoobies’ families. But as she thought about each of them and the things they didn't talk about, it hit her that maybe her own family didn't make her an outsider after all. Maybe that was actually the one thing she had in common with everyone.

She found herself suddenly curious about how Giles grew up. What were his parents like? Were they still alive? Did he ever have a family of his own?

So many questions that it wasn't time to ask yet. For now, she was simply grateful.

“Thanks. And I um…” She took a deep breath. It was now or never. “I wanted to apologize about that. I didn't mean to bring my family stuff into your-”

“No, no, that's-”

“Really, I-”

“Tara, believe me, if it's not demons threatening my life in the workplace, it's angry customers. Between the two of them, I'll take the ones I'm allowed to hit, if I'm being honest. And as for the spell, I mean, it's not as if I… as if we all haven't… Just as long as you're all right.”

“It's just…My dad was so-”

“Your father I could have taken if Buffy wouldn't have gotten to him first,” said Giles, his accent getting just a little less posh for a moment. His lips tightened as if he had more words that he thought it best not to say out loud.

It was hard to picture Mr. Giles in a fight. But Tara had heard stories. Apparently he could be terrifying when he needed to be. Willow had described it as him being two completely different people: one a mild-mannered British librarian who couldn't hurt a fly, and the other a man with that look you only have if you've killed in cold blood before and aren't afraid to do it again. Tara had only ever seen glimpses of the second one. Every time she'd seen the scarier Giles, though, she'd noticed he was always protecting someone.

Now that she was the one being protected, he didn't feel like two people at all. She didn't know all the details of what he'd done in his past. She didn't need to. In this moment, as far as she was concerned, the gap between the gentle Giles and the terrifying Giles was bridged. At the core of both was just a man who cared.

“Thank you,” Tara said softly.

“Of course. And you're…?” Giles trailed off, gesturing to her nose where Spike had hit her.

“Oh!” Tara exclaimed, remembering to breathe again now that she'd been reminded she had a nose and lungs attached to it somewhere. “Yeah, I'm fine. Not broken. I put some ice on it.”

“Glad to hear it. Sorry he hit you. I'm sure there was another way we could've-”

“No, it's fine. It was quicker.”

Giles shrugged. A few more seconds of silence passed and Tara felt her face getting hot as she became hyper-aware of herself. If she let on just how much this talk meant to her now, she was sure to blow this whole thing. It was best to make her exit for today and do this in small doses.

“Well, I'd better go,” she said, placing the crystal by the register, “Just this.”

She quickly looked down to dig into her bag for her wallet, letting her hair fall in front of her face and praying that she hadn't turned into a tomato in front of someone whose approval she was so desperate for. Giles put a hand up to stop her.

“On me.”

Tara's eyes widened. “Are you sure?”

Giles ripped off the price tag and glanced over to the door that Anya was sure to return through any moment now.

“Well, best to keep it quiet,” he said, discreetly shoving the sticker into his pocket so he wouldn't be caught giving away free product, “but really, I insist.”

“Okay,” Tara said, freezing for a second. When it came to her birthday, she knew that gifts could have just been because of an unspoken social rule, or maybe just to please Willow. This, however, was a kindness Tara had done nothing to earn. Before she'd put the crystal down, she'd been gripping it so hard there were indents on her fingers. Now, as she picked it back up, she was cradling it as if any movement would shatter it completely.

“Thank you so much,” she said, knowing that it wasn't enough, but not knowing what else to say. “Well, I'll see you later, Mr. Giles.”

Tara saw him think for a second, almost open his mouth to speak, and then stop himself. Maybe it was wishful thinking, but she could have sworn he was about to tell her that she could just call him Giles. He looked a little embarrassed for a moment, but gathered himself quickly and just gave a gentle nod.

Maybe next time.

“Take care,” Giles said as Tara waved goodbye.

His smile was a lot like his usual polite customer service smile, but there was a hint of warmth in it now. She'd seen that before, but she couldn't remember ever being on the receiving end until now. But maybe she had been. Maybe she'd just been too nervous to look at him long enough to notice.

Two out of five goals achieved. And one new piece of evidence to put next to the crystal ball on her desk.

She could work with that.