Her face does that thing it does — where it pinches with visible displeasure. A hint of frustration. It's a far cry from some of the blow out fights they've had — the yelling, the low-blows, the accusations — but still. A diplomat she is not, and it's a conscious effort to try and just... Talk. Honestly. About something that they probably haven't talked out as much as they should have.

"Is this really on me? I'm the one that suddenly has to making the fucking calls around here?" She exhales, her body language shifting as she loosely folds her arms over her chest. Her voice gets a little bit flat. "I don't have to bring up last time, do I. You're not going to make me throw your own words at you."

She'd been angry about it, back then. Or maybe not angry so much as hurt. It had been a vulnerable time. And he hadn't been wrong — not at all — but there wasn't much logic to the feeling.