Her fingers draw gentle lines between the marks his cases and bad habits have left on him, and he stores away those patterns she's tracing and the words she's saying like a Rosetta Stone. Somehow the circumstances here are all right enough that he can hear and interpret what she's saying, even though it's in a language he's never bothered to learn.

And somehow he can trust that when he speaks, she'll be able to translate for herself.

"I'm glad to be here," he admits, very quietly. "This... this is good. I mean the whole thing--lunch, talking, sex. All of it."