"I know-- trust me, I know." Not like she can stomach sitting still for more than a few minutes at a time when she's not running a job. The tea bag's dunked in, left to steep on the counter, curls of chamomile scented smoke wafting up to fill her lungs; She leans in over its top to peer out at the slow-drifting snowfall. It'd started-- no lie-- the day they'd flown back in with his leg all propped up and bound like fragile glass. Since then it's only grown thicker with each passing day.

"But you've got all your things, yeah? Might as well put them to good use; those dvds on the top of your bookcase haven't even been opened."

An entire stack of them, no less.