Iris was pleased beyond belief that the crutches were coming too. Her eyes transferred from the vague impressions of his movement and sharpened on them as they swung from his arm, watching until they disappeared out of her field of vision. She made her pleasure known with a quiet little sound of satisfaction, her tongue low in her mouth. She did not truly relax, not yet, and such a thing would indeed be uncanny, and a significant enough event that he, observant man that he was, would undoubtedly notice.
Obligingly, she reached out for the door, pulled it open a little ways, then waited for him to retreat properly so it opened without hitting her in the process. "I suspect this is the way to get what you want," Iris said, shifting a little into his chest against the cold of the hallway. "Throwing people about." She hid her face with the curtain of her hair so she could relax her features. Her ankle hurt, and though it was much improved by the bandage, it still drained her to ignore it.
He was going to see the apartment, she realized. She could insist he stay out, but he might refuse to put her down, and then resistance would be utterly ridiculous; she would lose the ground she gained. Damn him and his intelligence, anyway. Next time she moved, it would be to the most ignorant little town she could find.