"Oh, God, Danny," She was rubbing the back of her head with her free hand. "Was that really necessary?"
He shrugged his shoulders in mock apology, "Just clumsy, I guess."
One eyebrow arched elegantly.
Or it would have been elegantly, if the mass of hair wasn't piled in front of it, but Michelle did her best.
Something stirred within him at the sight of Michelle, sprawled on the floor, in the wrinkled and disheveled clothing she had slept in, blowing tangled hair out of her face, attempting to look elegantly cross.
He dismissed it. "We hav..."
She held up a hand. "Before you say it..."
He paused.
"... I'm not going anywhere, until you tell me what's going on." To emphasize her point, she crossed her legs and folded her arms in front of her, quite a feat while still handcuffed to him. "Start talking."
"Uh, what exactly...."
"I think you might explain, first of all what you're doing ALIVE. Then, you might go on to why everyone thinks you're DEAD. Then, maybe what you're doing in England. Somewhere along the way, we might hit, why we're heading "north," she unfolded her arms to gesture upwards wildly, "something a bit more exact as to destination would be nice...."
He'd known she'd been taking it all far too calmly.
"... What the hell were you thinking, Danny? And are you actually teaching Renaissance drama, remember, you hate "Romeo and Juliet," do they teach that in retired gangster school..."
Oh, yeah. If the initial reaction had been a kind of shock, followed by giggles, and exhaustion, hysteria was definitely settling in.
"... Were you ever going to let anyone know! What about your grandmother, your mother, Pilar, Ray..." She slumped against the bureau, and she cast her eyes downward.
"What about me?"
The thousand pieces of his heart each shattered into a thousand more.
"I..."
What could he say?
"Do you really want to know what happened?"
She paused. What would he tell her?
She looked at him. It was Danny, but not Danny. Danny, with ten years of wrinkles that weren't quite laugh lines, hopefully wiser.
Was he the same or different, she didn't know.
How good had they ever been at communicating? Half the time they'd actually been together, they'd spent running around in never-ending circles, one chasing the other, the other running away for some reason.
And of course, pretending to be dead for ten years was never a good sign of trust.
It was corny, but she looked into his eyes. And it was Danny, Danny who sometimes lied to her, but, in his own way, their way, was never less than honest.
She took a deep breath. "Yes. Yes, I do."