Her gloves are tugged back on as she settles inside again, carefully hooking the phone up to the port he's created so he can get things started. A few hours feels like a lifetime to wait and yet also not very long at all — she'd waited years for answers before, what was a few hours now. But as he flips through radio signals, a dozen different voices pouring out information on things both unfamiliar and not, her anxiety and fear levels slowly begin to climb, like ascending a steep spiral staircase.

At his incredibly sweet and surprisingly comforting words, she leans forward to press her hand to the top of the dashboard, giving him a gentle pat like how she used to back in Jeopardy whenever she'd pass him in the driveway. The words are thick on her tongue when she speaks and heavy with emotion. "Thank you, sugar. I really mean it."

But then she leans back and lets her hand fall, looking around the parking lot. "We should probably get a move on before someone wonders why we're just sittin here."