Still, she keeps her eyes cast low, away from his face; even when he gets so close that all she can see is his awful tie. She pulls in a steadying breath, picking up his scent, and cautiously fingers the collar of his long jacket.

"It wasn't jus' my milliversary," she says quietly, coming back around to his earlier question. "It was my anniversary. Doc an' I, our anniversary. An' the one year mark of the day he left me."

Not something she would have otherwise committed to memory, if not for the bad timing.

"An' it's July, which makes me think of home an' the Fourth, an' Sam, an' Trout, an' ... and I jus' ... didn't want t'be alone. I didn't want t'spend the night alone."

She presses back against the wall, waiting for the volley.