NickMorgan

Silver stood with his back to the door, but the shuffle of angry feet in too-large boots was as familiar to him as anything else in this kitchen. "What's got yer knickers in a twist?" he rumbled, smiling to himself as Nick settled herself at the table by the door, ready to exit at the drop of a hat. "Nothing," she said weakly, and Ishmael sighed at her side. Liar, he seemed to say, and Silver gave a slight nod. Not surprising. But when he turned around, he had to admit he found himself surprised. "Th' devil's this? Yeh movin' int' th' kitchen?" he asked, his good eye widening as it took in the bags at her feet. She shook her head before d

 Nick walked in a sort of daze, not really managing to watch where she was going. She was too immersed in her thoughts. What had happened? Suddenly Jim wanted less to do with her than the first day she'd been thrust into his care. Where had she gone so terribly wrong? It felt like she was speaking to a stranger, when only last week they'd been so close… admittedly closer than they probably had any right to be, all things considered. She pushed down the ache in her chest and took a deep breath, holding onto that thought for a moment longer. They'd had no right to act like that—and she especially hadn't had the right to ask that of hi