She smiles at him for a long moment, then dips her head, chewing on her bottom lip, to keep pulling things out.

It's not a lot – this was obviously his go-bag, and she has more of the items from his apartment with the rest of her own belongings – but she faithfully pulls everything out for his inspection until there are only a few items left.

Well, two. (Well, three, but one isn't immediately obvious.) She'd stuffed the bottom of the backpack with two soft wool throws: one purple-and-smoke, the other shades of green. She pulls them out and puts them on the grass, eyes low until she can bring herself to look back up at him again.

But she doesn't say anything. After all this time, everything she'd planned – she can't think of a damn thing to say.