Stephen ordered a dry martini, the driest they could make, and turned enough that he was facing Christine. It wasn't enough to look out at the dance floor. If he did, he would consider them the luckiest people on the planet since they were blissfully unaware of the sheer amount of threats that could squash them flat in under five minutes and he could only tackle 3/4ths of those on his own.
And then there was Christine. She knew what was at risk. It was a good thing, he supposed. If anyone could handle it, it would be Christine.
Once the drinks were done, he picked them up and held out her drink. His hands were surprisingly still now that he could steady them with magic. If he didn't focus though, it was an entirely different story. She'd be wearing more of it than being able to drink it.
"A little bit," he admitted, without reluctance. He gave her a cocky wink that was so quick it could be missed, a left-over echo of his former self. "I think I blew off more steam as the guest speaker at neuro conventions."
Before he took a sip of his martini, he added, "No jokes about hot air."