She knew she hadn’t assuaged his worries at all but she was grateful when he didn’t push her to talk. She wanted to wait until they were back in the comfort of the house that she had grown to love over the past few days, back where they could stay until they could talk it all out and come up with a solution. She didn’t want the distraction of driving nor the interruption of stopping somewhere to talk first. Thankfully Clint seemed to understand, or at least he bent to her wishes as he almost always did. Whatever the reason she didn’t care so long as it worked.

Staring out the window as they drove in silence, she tried to collect her thoughts, tried to figure out exactly what she would say to Clint when they got home. Would he be angry with her? It wasn’t carelessness; he had seen her file and he knew that this should be impossible. She had had no reason to take any precautions. Ultimately, though, it wasn’t telling him that would be the hard part, but what was to come afterwards. That was what she was dreading.

Looking over at him when she felt his hand rest on her leg, she covered it with her own and gave it a gentle squeeze. “How about the little one? Is she completely traumatized?” she asked, trying to settle both their nerves by breaking the silence between them.