There's a pause. The sound of other hairdressers laughing rang the air just before one of them clicked on the hair dryer, throwing a blanket of white noise into the background. His voice was strengthened to get over those bits of sound that blurred the air, "It seems you already have him on speed dial, so it shouldn't be difficult getting his attention about this." The picture at her station hadn't gone unnoticed but just the opposite-- spilling volumes of information. Men didn't look at anyone like that unless they wanted a girl or already had them. She was looking keen, too. Glowing laughs, the whole bit. This is only a test.

"Do I? I thought I did, once, but it's been awhile." The metallic swishing of her shears was a rhythmic, steady sound, one more hum in the swirl of noise at a busy salon. Grace worked quickly, methodically, with practiced precision. Tempting though it might have been to 'slip', her professional ethics forbade it. The haircut would be an excellent one; it was the only kind she was capable of giving.

Glancing past him to her station, her gaze rested a long moment on the picture of she and Mark. Whatever instinct she had to protect Mark by downplaying her relationship to him was overridden by the fact that the evidence was right there in front of Mac, plain as day. "We are...close, yes." She'd chosen that word to describe it on purpose, given the way Josh had used the same one earlier in the conversation.

Pressing her fingers to the crown of his skull then to lift his head again, her gaze slid to his in the mirror, lingering there a quiet moment before reverting to her work. "Don't suppose there's any chance I can talk you out of this?"

"It seems like a funny coincidence, doesn't it?" He lifted his head up when he could, turning his head left and right because it sort of ached to keep it still and in that unusual position. "You left when maybe I would come to lead and then hoped in bed with a leader. Seems you have a thing for a certain type of man." It was hard to tell just how close they were being. If they were shaving things down beyond flesh and to where bones were or if they were just taking a little bit of hair off.

"I think, given the circumstance, that if one of us owed the other anything, including a nudge to the right person, it'd be you owing me. Kind of makes it easier to bury an axe if someone digs a hole for you to put it in."

Giving him a minute to stretch his neck, Grace took the opportunity to swivel the chair to the right, so she could work on the left side of his head when he was ready. For a second time, the urge to reach for her phone was almost overwhelming, and for the second time she refrained. Pulling it out right now could be disastrous, given the quickfire temper on the man before her.

Far more intelligent than her ex-husband, Josh wasn't the sort of blind beast Grace had come to fear. He was violent, but not pointlessly so; she knew instinctively even now that she wouldn't come to harm at his hands -- not here, not without the right provocation. He represented an interesting stepping stone between Henry and Mark, halfway out of the darkness but not quite into the light.

Still, the way he presented his argument, the suggestion that he and Mark were the same type of man, it brought a scowl to her face. "First of all," resuming her work when he was settled, she started at the bottom and worked her way up, gently tipping his head to the side with her fingers pressed at his temple. "You say that like it happened in three days. It's been two years."The fact that she hadn't dated anyone else between them was one she omitted out of self preservation.

"Second, you an' he are only alike in so far as people listen to th' both of you and you're both a lot smarter than people tend to give you credit for." Grace sighed, then, nudging his jaw lightly to bring his head back to center, working her way over the ear and along the temple. "You can be sure that we'll discuss it. I had no idea it was you or we'd have discussed it already. But I don't expect it to change his mind any."

"I'm not bringing up that thing from two years ago because I'm sore at you." Was it true? Certainly there was wounded pride that someone had left him. That a woman had simply taken her things and hit the road. Well, it hadn't been exactly that clean cut. In retrospect there were little signs, little hints which he now understood to be the sort of gestures someone has right before they go. Yet Mac wasn't lying, or saying something hurtful just to hurt. The clarity of his gaze said as much-- he wasn't asking her back. Maybe he was twisting the knife a little. Grace had a conscience about her, the sort which could be twisted if she felt badly enough about something.

Ditching him at the point where the world changed? To Mac, there was no question it was guilt worthy.

"So we're just alike in large... personality-defining ways? People who are in control?" His head was centered and he could hear the sound of her metal sheers sharpening against each other as she clipped.

Too much twisting and someone was liable to bleed to death. To do nothing except start a fire. Mac looked at her, not turning his head. His eyebrows were both lifted up as he asked, "I'm not going to change mine, either. You really plan to stick around and see what happens next?" The last sentence wasn't snarky, it was more gentle than the rest as if he was advising her against being around when another hurtful situation presented itself. She could just go and never see it.

That thing. It was a dismissive way of describing what was, in fact, the second romantic relationship she'd ever had, one that carried some significance to her accordingly as it was the first after Henry. Grace let it pass though her lip curled, and she gave an abrupt twist to the chair to change sides.

As ever, the little dancer girl balanced, seemingly precariously, on one foot.

"I think y'just hit on the strongest difference between you, actually," replied the stylist, now working her way over the right side of his head. Her gaze stayed resolutely on her work, her breath shallow in her chest as her fingers flew at their task. "He leads. You control."

The tone of voice in his last question surprised Grace, her expression troubled, her brows furrowing. There was a storm brewing in those vibrant green eyes, glittering like the jagged shards of a crushed emerald in the salon's mirrors. He was concerned for her? The surprise that carried was outweighed by the implication of that concern. Even after two years, the little stylist could still read between his lines. Josh was saying he didn't want her killed; which meant he was planning on taking this to extremes. She swallowed roughly, her mouth dry. "Should I be specifically concerned?"

The chair jerked and he caught its meaning, but didn't say anything. Maybe because that was just the sort of reaction he was digging at her to get. Something that showed there was a crack, an impatience. A hurt. The mention of leading and control made him snort, his reaction a sharp gesture that hinted towards being coupled with words but never was. Mac didn't have to tell her who had the largest pack and that between the packs he had men with sharper teeth and claws from all that 'testing' she has disdain for.

Josh wanted more than her not getting killed. If Mark was his first problem, it was a problem that was going to have to go. Most people, he found, didn't worry so much about themselves as they did their loved ones. A mother could tolerate any suffering so long as it wasn't her child's. He thought her hands even paused with the question as she cut hair and played casual. Answering her felt like answering a rhetorical question, which he was loathe to do. He didn't have much patience for stupid questions. Maybe there was some softness for her which lingered and was possibly spent when he didn't just ignore what she said, but responded, "I wouldn't be digging up history to give you a courtesy call to skip town if it wasn't something to be concerned about."

He couldn't get a parking spot right out front sah Grace wouldn't be seeing the Honda pull up through tha salon windows. Instead she'd see him jogging up to the front doors wearing a hunter green long sleeve shirt tha was bereft of any band name. His grey-blue jeans had a legitimate tear across tha left knee. When he opened the door a few of her coworkers smiled and nodded, remembering him from the time he took her to lunch. Grace having a visit from Mac and now Mark was certain to be the center of their gossip as soon as she was out of ear shot.

His breaths were drawing in and out of his throat quickly, but naht he were out of breath or nothin'. Jist that he'd jogged all dah way, made haste tah her station and din put on tha sorta smile which said both hello and I'm worried. "Hey, got here as quick as I could." He couldn't think o' anythin' else tah say, figuring this weren't something tah discuss right then and there. But he did touch both her elbows with his hands and tried tah measure her eyes tah see if all were well in them.

Pretty much from the moment she'd last texted Mark, Grace had been pacing. Replaying the conversation with Josh over and over in her mind: like a girl she analyzed and reanalyzed every sentence, every pause, every breath. Could she have handled it differently, better? Could she have said something else - done a better job of trying to convince him to give this gambit up? Was there something she could have offered him? As far as she could tell, Grace had done the best she could, but it was impossible not to second, third, fourth and even fifth-guess herself.

And then asking Mark to come here. The little stylist agonized over that one, scarcely daring to breathe until he arrived. What if Mac was still lurking somewhere outside? Or some of his men? What if they'd been using her as bait, knowing she would call Mark as soon as they were gone? Grace would never forgive herself if something happened to Mark because of her.

But that's exactly what's on the line, isn't it? Josh had tasked her with changing Mark's mind, or else. The implication of or else was as heavy as it was overt. Or else meant using her against Mark however he felt necessary.

Grace was, in short, worrying herself sick.

Relief surged through her little body when the Gypsy King appeared, his hands on her elbows. She could tell by the look on his face that he was worried already, and a hot spike of guilt surged through her belly accordingly. Not trusting herself not to make it worse just yet, the girl wrapped both arms tightly around his waist, pressing herself as close to him as she could. "Thank you. I'm so sorry but I .. I don't know what to do. C'mon..." Pulling away, she slipped her hands into his, tugging him towards the back rooms with a tip of her head in that direction.

Mark is the heartbeat of camp. When she hugged him in close like dat he was warm reminders of home. He was dah smell of a bonfire and the way tha earth was after a rain. He were a shirt dat was washed at the local laundry mat with the off-brand detergent that was kept in stock. He's fresh shaved sah there's that sorta manufactured orange smell that were almost entirely wore off by that hour in the day.

"Whut's happened?" Tried tah say it soft enough dat the sound of his voice wouldn't clue in her curious coworkers or excite tha situation more than it already were. His hand squeezed hers when their palms kissed and held her hand firmly. He thought mehbe dey would jist leave, but instead he was lead tah the back room. It were a little.. nerve wrecking. Jist cause she was actin' weird, and in his experience back rooms meant either verrah bad things or verrah good things. By her pallor and the look of her eyes, dis weren't a situation that promised tah be happy.

Once he walked in after her, his free hand moved behind him tah catch dah door knob and shut it. There was a slight raise o' his eyebrows in the wordless way of askin' her whut was wrong.

The girl wanted to go home - it wasn't that. But it wasn't a conversation she wanted to have in the car, and she couldn't fathom sitting in the car not talking about it all the way home. And she didn't want to take a chance on other folks from the camp overhearing any part of it -- always a risk in a Caravan like theirs-- before she'd had a chance to explain everything to Mark. There also lurked the specter of Mac and his boys hanging around somewhere out there to up the stakes, and she didn't want to take a chance on the gypsy king being blind-sided that way, either.

So the back room it was. Her distress was obvious enough that no one would follow them, or challenge the shutting of the door. For that, at least, Grace was grateful.

Her brows were drawn together, her full lips pursed in thought, her wide eyes a storm tossed tumultuous sea of greens. Where to start? How to explain? The girl took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. "Al....right. I, um. I guess I should start at the top. Do you remember when we met in December, an' you asked me about the other camps I'd been in?"

He was trying not tah look like his heart had become lead. Tha it was now impossibly heavy and could only end up on the ground by his feet. Mark didn't wanna hold his breath, but he were. He were thinking dat this was a story he kept hearing and he didn't wanna hear it anymore. It was surprising tah him how much it hurt tah watch her lips and tongue handle words. Nothin' evah came tah him which was good and started with 'do you remember...' It felt like dah sorta lead in tah explain something going wrong, somethin' dah had gone wrong.

In his history, dis was where she told him she got an old boyfriend come around and were needin' tah figure thin's out with him.

It was, jist then, about tha hardest thin' tah do, tah not look crestfallen or sucker-punched. But iffin thin's was gonna go that way, he'd at least walk outta tha back room with his pride.

Grace was searching his face now, looking for some sign that he remembered the conversation. It was there, but so was a certain hardening to his expression, the mask that descended when he was being Leader-Mark. She read it wrong, thinking he had already guessed what she was about to say -- it didn't occur to her that he would filter her words through his own worst case scenario, which started out the same as her story but ended up somewhere completely different.

Chewing on the inside of her cheek, Grace swallowed hard, forcing herself to go on. "...I told you I spent some time with the MacIntosh clan. That I dated one of 'em, even. But that they were a hardscrabble, ruthless bunch and their cutthroat lifestyle didn't suit me so I moved on."

The girl felt faint. Pressing her hand to her forehead, she squeezed her eyes shut for a long moment before she continued. "When you told us it was the MacIntosh clan threatenin' us, I thought Silas was still in charge. That's who ran the camp when I was there, an' I ...I never spoke to him. Didn't know him hardly at all, 'cept to say hello now and again when I couldn't avoid it." Her gaze lifted to Mark's then, clearly distressed, and she shook her head. "But Silas isn't in charge anymore, is he? That's not who you're dealin' with."

I dated one of 'em... I moved on. Mark nodded a few times when she spoke and was completely attentive tah each word she used. At first it felt as though this were gonna be that same story read aloud tah him dat other women befer her had said. The desk or counter area which was behind him he took a lean to, arms folded ovah his chest as he listened and waited. It felt like she was building up tah the punchline of a joke which wasn't gonna be funny at all but hurt like hell.

"Nah, Silas stopped bein' in charge... mehbe two year ago? Mehbe more?" Mark couldn't recall it, exactly. Time could feel weird when you moved around a lot and didn't always get the seasonal cues that a year had passed. Whut he did know was dat it happened a good bit befer they came tah Rhy'Din and mehbe even before Ko and Gwen had der little fall out which put Ko on the outs with her crew fer a bit. That seemed about two or more years ago.

"Dey still cut-throat. Mehbe even more than they was before. Mac made clear he gonna lead with his knuckles and bullets." Mark lifted his shoulders up in a small shrug that looked more defeated din indifferent. He tilted his head to the side, watching her look near dizzy with tha conflict o' it, "Sah yer old boyfriend come callin', need yer help and you gotta sort it?" He figured he'd lead intah whut he thought her words was building tah.

Grace fidgeted, her fingers curling and uncurling in the fabric of her shirt. Wadding it up and then smoothing it out only to wad it up again. She nodded once, and the defensive posture he'd taken made her that much more nervous. She swallowed, shaking one of her hands free to rub self consciously at the side of her neck. "Josh came to see me, yeah. Said he'd heard I was with the Barlows and wanted to warn me to leave." Brows furrowing more deeply, she frowned. "I suppose he actually meant that, too, at first. But then he saw that picture of us. And now he's "letting" me have a chance to talk you into backing down before he..." Grace shook her head again, looking away. "Don't back down, Mark. No matter what."

"Josh?" Mark didn't know the guy by any name other than Mac. They had run in different camps and when Josh had taken up tha war path, he went with Mac. Maybe cause it sounded meaner or mehbe cause he wanted a new name fer the new identity he was growin' intah. But every time dat he were spoke of, it was Mac. Made one think mehbe o' the old wise guys. Mac the Knife or something.

"He saw dah picture o' us," and Mark was wondering if this weren't all the actions of a spurned ex lover dat come in all innocent and friend-like, with all the fake intention being tah warn her when it's really jist about seein if something is there to rekindle. And if there was? Flip her like she was some kinda spy, mehbe? Or at least get her jist to abandon ship or slip some secrets, among otha things, with her tongue. Except dat when he speak with her and see the photo he gets sour fer his chances and makes with an ideal threat. Mark knew his breathing were still small and shallow, like he was still waiting for dat tidal wave tah hit. Was she tellin' him naht tah back down while also sayin' she was packing a suitcase?

"You wanna stand dis ground tah, din?" One eyebrow arched as if tah prod her how certain she were about it. She sounded certain, and it were then that he pressed her for tha detail which seemed missing, "Where you gonna stand in all o' this?"

"Mac," amended the tiny dancer girl. "His name is Josh." The question, though expected, stung. Given everything going on and his history with women in particular, Grace couldn't blame her man for bracing himself like he was, but neither could she deny that his apparent lack of faith hurt. Swallowing roughly, Grace toyed with a tendril of steel grey, watching his face a long moment. Her deep green eyes were wide, and maybe a little incredulous, as she took a few hesitant steps towards him. "Mark," she said his name softly, tenderly. She stretched her hands out towards him, reaching for his. "I'm with you."

When he pulled away to redress, Grace stepped out of her pants altogether. Then she retrieved get shirt from where it had fallen, stuffing her arms into the thin fabric and pulling it back over her head. Shaking her hair free, she combed it with her fingers, trying to tame it back down into some semblance of order. At length she reached for her jeans, and with a playful smirk she impulsively plucked her underwear out of them, stuffing the flimsy material into one of his pockets for safekeeping before she put her pants back on. "I clocked out when I messaged you, love. I'm going with you."


He had his shirt back on by the time she were pullin' her pants back up. It was kinda awkward, being back there without the comforts of home. It was sexy and awkward, which was an odd kinda combination. Mark was used tah having tah share close quarters and expectin' whutevah he did and tha things which happened tah be a far cry from private. Still, this weren't nah campground and even though her coworkers was nice enough, they were not gypsies. But something about Grace and tha moment had made it all worth it and he weren't regretting a bit of it.

He shoulda felt more high strung and worried, but he was a bit drunk from bein' spent. Naht sah much that he stood idle. He leaned in tah kiss her a few more times, seein' tah it she were ready befer he opened tha door fer them tah step out.

Fully dressed once more, or as fully dressed as she was going to be, Grace fluffed her hair one more time, leaning into his kisses to return them enthusiastically. There was a smile on her face again, at last: one that had been missing since the moment she'd recognized Josh in the salon. She was still worried about things, of course, but a whole lot less so than before. Her most primary fear --losing Mark --had been allayed. Anything else, she could handle, because they would handle it together. Taking his hand, she stepped back into the salon with him.

Their fingers fold into one another like a clasp. She didn't have to tug him along, but he felt that since she worked here it would be better if she lead. Also, it jist seemed better if it were the woman leading the man out of a room. It seemed that had it been the other way that everyone would have seen her upset, heard the banging, and then seen him pulling her along by tha hand. Nah, he'd rather tha wisp of her smile and her one step ahead of him in this situation. It would explain more, and 'hit home' better than any verbal explanation.

Outside, there was a tense moment. Grace had been right. Perhaps this was all about getting her to call him. Getting the two of them in one known location fer being dispatched. Were they in the sights of some automated weapon, right now? Mark felt the tension and tried naht tah let it shake him, movin' as though there weren't a problem when, up until tha moment he sat in the driver's seat, he thought there were.

Apparently tahday were naht the day Mac intended him tah die.

Grace more or less held her breath as she smiled and said her goodbyes to the other stylists, introducing Mark here and there as necessary, as her boyfriend. If there was going to be talk, and of course there was, best that at least part of it be accurate in advance. The girl stopped at her station long enough to pick up her bag, throwing one more glance at the picture that had changed everything, but even now with everything that had happened or could still happen, she wasn't sorry to have displayed it. Proud to be with him no matter what it meant.

Exhaling when they reached the car, the little dancer basically collapsed into her seat, her profile almost entirely disappearing from the windows. It was one perk of being little, anyway -- she made a difficult target. Not so much the same for the gypsy king beside her, but if Mac had been going to make a move today, surely he'd have done it by now?

Reaching for his hand again pretty much the moment he had the car in gear, Grace was watching him, those wide green eyes intent on his face. "I was so scared," she admitted softly.

"I'm sorrah fer that," Mark didn't know whut it would be like tah face Mac one-on-one. Tha only time he saw him he got company with him tah look after him. But he imagined Mac didn't show up alone. Naht only was she dealing with someone like him, no doubt she were also outnumbered. And sure, they was in public and she got her coworkers and such, but that didn't make you any less dead when someone pulled a trigger. Mac had wanted tah make a point and he had. Mark jist weren't sure if it was entirely the one he intended.

Her hand was hugged by his periodically, like some thought kept circling to the forefront of his mind and makin' him want tah be sure her hand was still der with his, "I kinda feel like the idea o' something bad happening being tah surreal tah really wrap my mind around it sah I always keep thinking of other things. Jist bad thin's happening and I get... you know." Mark weren't gonna say tha word scared, even if his whole sentence implied it heavily.

Yeah, see. It wasn't Mac she was afraid of. Sure, he'd heavily implied some particularly ugly things -- seeing to Ian, and all-- but that wasn't what had nearly stopped her heart in terror. No, it was the look on Mark's face, that defensive, almost hostile posture he'd taken when she was first trying to explain. The way he'd asked her where she stood like he didn't know. Chewing on the inside of her right cheek again -- she'd chewed it bloody, a thing he'd probably been able to taste when he kissed her, Grace shook her head just a little. "No, baby. I mean, yeah, you're right. The idea that something bad might happen just got... a whole lot more real. I got this deadline and like... he basically said without sayin' that he was going to turn me over to one of his thugs," she said with a shudder, her lip curling at the memory. "But even that...that wasn't what I was so scared about."

"It weren't?"

For Mark, the Mac situation was kinda all consuming. Did he particularly like the idea dat Josh/Mac was her ex? Nah, but so far Mac weren't using that as ammunition against him like Tracey had. Mehbe he had a soft spot fer her and she was more than a pawn tah manipulate the situation. He didn't think about tha fact dat she saw him, despite his best efforts, and had known he got a change in demeanor at the conversation. Was still hard, he guessed, tah let some o' those thin's go. They came back up, like the taste of vomit, and lingered all bitter and acrid on his tongue.

Their folded hands was squeezed again like they made a heart from it, his occasionally tightening and loosening grip on her bein' a slow and random heartbeat.

"Nah." said Grace with a little shake of her head. "For a second or two there," she went on, answering the squeeze of his hand with one of her own, "...for a second there I was sure that I'd lost you." It made her emotional all over again, even just talking about it, her throat constricting painfully on the words. Swallowing hard, she drew a raspy breath, trying for another smile. "Nothing else mattered, next to that."

"Nah, yah won't lose meh unless you plan tah throw me away," he brought their folded hands tah his mouth sah he could kiss the back of hers. All the while his eyes remained trained on tha road as they took the familiar path back tah the campgrounds. Mark didn't realize that she'd thought that, but once she said it, he didn't realize she were also very right. He had nearly bristled and prepared himself fer what seemed a terrible and unavoidable outcome. How much longer would she be patient with his fear o' that?

Reassured, Grace flared her fingers gently against his mouth when he kissed her knuckles. "Well, m'not planning on throwing you away--ever--so I guess y'gonna have to just get used to me." Apparently she could be patient awhile yet. "I love being with you."

"I hope yah do. I dun plan tah leave you behind none." There's his laugh, but it's a kinda nervous laugh. Tha sort someone expects on a prom date or something. A laugh that wants her to laugh, a laugh that loves her and hints, jist a tiny bit, at a lingering insecurity. Already he was starting to feel it lessen. Now dat the day was beginning to age, he felt foolish for having though what he did and starting on building a wall befer he knew.

Thy pulled up tah the campground. Some of the teenagers were showing off cartwheels by the bonfire while a few o' the adults would glance and yell at them fer being reckless near dah flames.

Grace laughed along with him. Not because the concept of being together was funny--just that his nervousness was. Arriving at the camp ground, the girl pulled her hand from his at last, climbing out of the passenger seat. Snagging her purse off the floor, she closed the door behind her, making her way around the hood of the car to rejoin his side. "Good. I don't wanna be left behind."

Something were lifted offa his shoulders once he was parked and climbing outta that Honda which seemed like every few days it wanted tah die. Mark liked cars that way. He liked them disposable, old, and inexpensive. There weren't much he was willing tah spend good money on. Clothes came from thrift stores and he lived in an RV which might be on the verge of calling for a replacement. Mehbe Mark jist had trouble lettin' things die and were the sort that didn't adopt a puppy but a thirteen year-old dog. Something had tah be said about that, he jist weren't sure what.

"You, left behind? Nahhh," he stepped around the car and linked his hand with hers, "I need tah know thin's about yah, still. Like whut yer favorite flower is and whut you like fer breakfast."

Grace thought about it, lacing her fingers into his. Squeezing gently, the little dancer shrugged. "I really like lilies," she answered him. "All kinds, but especially the ones that smell pretty. The pink and white ones." Basically plastering herself to his side, she considered her breakfast options with a shrug. "I dunno. I really do like pancakes?"

"You dunno whut you like fer breakfast best? It happens tah yah everyday!" Tah Mark dat was jist odd, though there was probably plenty o' folks that felt the same as Grace. Besides, there was also plenty who jist didn't eat breakfast and moved straight intah lunch. There were an upnod from him at the bonfire and dat's when Mark discovered something powerful and wonderful-- when he was holdin' Grace's hand and they was walkin' as they were nahbody moved tah interrupt him. She was just some kinda forcefield dat they didn't wanna interrupt.

Grace just kinda. ..didn't really think about breakfast unless Mark was involved. Mostly she was a cup of coffee and a piece of fruit kind of girl; wouldn't go to much trouble on her own account. It wasn't that she wasn't friendly with the campfire attendants--she smiled and waved at everyone who looked her way-- but her focus was very much on Mark and apparently it showed. Cleaving close to his side, the girl waited to see which RV they were going to, her cheek pressed into his arm with both of her hands wrapped around one of his.

They went tah his. It were smaller and he got a room mate, but Voo wasn't the sort that imposed on him or anything. Usually she stayed in her room and if she heard him talkin' with folks or on the phone she usually didn't approach him. Mehbe she was in her room mehbe she was out, but his RV was quiet like they was the only ones there when he unlocked tha door and stepped in. His hand squeezed Grace's and he broke away from her tah get somethin' tah drink from the fridge. A bottle o' water, a second one offered tah her.

She followed him inside, and when he broke away from her at last, Grace drifted over to the table, the place she always seemed to gravitate to when she was in his camper. The dancer girl realized, suddenly, that she could probably count on one hand the number of times she'd been in his camper, and although there were good reasons for that it still felt a little strange. Taking the water bottle when it was offered, Grace tipped a faint smile up at him. "Thanks, love."

Grace accepted the water bottle but made no effort to open it, rolling it absently between her fingers instead. Those luminous green eyes were distant, pensive. When he took her hands and kissed her cheek, Grace blinked herself back to the present with a light shake of her head, tilting her face lightly into that kiss. "M'alright. Just...thinking about things."

He moved tah stand in front of her, his thumbs hookin' in tha belt loops of her pants which was past her hips and behind her. He could tell her thoughts was scattered about and truthfully, his were the same as well. It was at dat moment he was trying to be reassuring. Eyes went tah the crawlspace bed he had over the driver's seat and then back tah her, "How about we curl up, watch a movie and try tah get some sleep? Would dat be somethin' good fer yah?"

Moving into him when he slid his hands around her, Grace laid her head on his chest, breathing in the scent of him. Quietly, she nodded. "...Sure. That sounds good." The little stylist must have been distracted -- she wasn't even thinking about food much less suggesting it. Slipping her hands around his waist, she clung to him for a long moment even though they'd only just agreed to move.

They jist needed that small space tahgether. Tha one where they didn't say much cause dey already knew, but held ontah each other until they slipped off intah sleep. He kissed the top of her head and shut his eyes. Dey were like that fer a few minutes, cradled tah one another as the impact of what had happened, what coulda happened, subsided.

Finally his hands eased up off from around her and he kissed her atop dah head again. He slipped outta his shoes, his shirt and pants befer climbing up tah his crawlspace bed, his clothes ditched in the hamper strapped tah the wall with his pants leg hanging out of it. In a way dah small cave was reassuring, it felt like being in a safe, small space.

Grace bent to unlace her converse high tops once Mark started peeling off layers. She stepped out of her shoes and then crawled up after him before she followed suit since she wasn't wearing anything underneath her outer garments anymore. Once she was under the covers, the girl wiggled her way out of the jeans, pushed them to the bottom of the bed and then curled herself up tightly against his chest. Settling there, a long sigh escaped her, like a breath long held finally releasing. Softly, she spoke. "Whatcha wanna watch?"

His sheets were a brushed nickle color. When she circled up tah him he drew the sheet over them, making it like they was a tent when he did so. Her sigh came out and he smiled, reaching behind his head where a tablet was stuck in a strap of cloth. He folded the stand, letting it balance on his chest as he scrolled, "Naht real sure. You got any suggestions fer meh?"