[She sees it lurking there between Harrow's words, an acceptance of her shitty apology that comes far too easy. Maybe she should be getting used to this by now, the way things have shifted between them. The alteration of their balance since those last fateful moments at Canaan House. She isn't though. There's still something startling - something close to unsettling - in a change that might be hard to perceive from the outside but which to her is stark and almost painfully clear.

Gideon rolls her eyes exaggeratedly to cover up that one strange moment of feeling undone, the odd fluttering sensation that comes with the words you're my garbage in place of where once may have been only bitterness and disgust.]

You insane, possessive creep.

[She says, but underneath the false exasperation lurks small tendrils of genuine fondness.]

You could start by getting your kit off. It must be bloody uncomfortable, sitting there in soggy base layers.

[Something she knows with certainty, having done precisely the same thing herself.]