"Give me ideas and you might not enjoy the results." It's huffed out with a laugh down into the buttons of his coat as she does them up for him; straightens out the thing with a few tugs till the seam falls into place and she can take a step back. "There we are. Good as new-- long as no one looks down. C'mon."

It wasn't the initial plan, staying in London for a few weeks while Charlie gets himself poked and prodded and stitched up like a toy that's lost all its stuffing. The leg was a mess. He's lucky there was anything to repair-- a point the doctors reiterated time and time again, both before and after the surgery was done and dealt with. Calling in to say she'd be dropping out of the job in New York was a shame: she likes the snow better over there. Plaza all lit up with the ice rink and the music.

Chloe never told him that bit. Didn't think it necessary. Poor bastard would've split his leg open again on the third day in, hobbling about the house for the sake of ignoring the pain over a hot cup of tea. Or a book. A movie. Possibly a snack. Which of course was after her initial decision to stay long enough to see him through his surgery.

Something to do with the look on his face during a lengthy flight home from Syria. Unsettling, how quiet he'd been back then.

Chloe tugs open the front door. "I'm picking up a coffee on the way back."