Was he tender? Dylan hadn't thought about it. He thought about this stuff a lot, but he didn't roll around tender and choose it. He worried about Mary's fingers, because he'd pretty much crushed some guy's hand today and he didn't know what to say because Dylan was not a words kind of guy. Words failed him often enough he had given up on them having much use.
He looked down at the shirt as she brushed his cheek with her lips, which was an awkward kind of shuffle of body and leaning and Dylan, he didn't say nothing when he took her hand again. Laced fingers against palms, in a kind of warm press that was middle-school, if you thought about it (and Dylan didn't.)
He laughed as he took the stairs down to the street. Yeah, he didn't think rangers needed a memo that bears were dangerous but Dylan knew nothing about ranger-ing that P hadn't said and P didn't talk a whole lot. It was work and P and Dyl were of one mind on work and play: strict borders, observation of division and kick back involved no work talk at all. M was buzzing with it, and he smiled as he hit street-level.
"Yeah OK. They can handle it. Can you handle it if they handle it?" Serious, but tease. Leadership, Dyl knew was all about making it so your team didn't need you anymore.