The look of surprise, the look of pleasure on Mischa's face, it had his cravings for the destructive - but oh so damned good - fading away into a dull whisper around the edges of his consciousness. It would never go away, never go away completely, but the warmth of her hands around his own... and Bryn and coke were banished for the time being. With a confused look in his eyes, he was about her answer her question - but why was he here, really? - when she let go of his hand and showed just why he was both attracted to her and respected her utterly at the same time, something that Bryn had never managed to draw from him.
Oddly enough, the pleasantly cold tone reminded him of Marc for a moment but he merely watched, the corners of his lips quirking up as the guard quickly bowed to the authority in her voice.
However, his face was a bland mask as he took back the cigarette pack filled with joints, slipping it into his back pocket before taking back the switchblades. One slid into his jean pocket, one into the pocket of his jacket and he felt a bit safer. Of course, he was still rather far outside of Marc's territory, which meant he was never really safe, but at the moment, being in those ten blocks didn't seem as important, as necessary. The memory stick was taken back quickly and a sidelong glance to the guard's palm pilot told Cam that his coding hadn't been downloaded onto the device.
But the memory stick disappeared up the sleeve of his jacket as he was led away, giving a friendly, not-quite-sarcastic wave to the guard. "I never go anywhere unarmed." He finally spoke and his voice had lost some of that stoner drawl that marked Highway employees. Even his eyes were a bit brighter, clearer. "Hazard of the business, some habits don't go away once you're off duty." He shrugged, keen eyes turning away from the subject of his affection and desire to take in her work place.
He paused just slightly to cock his head as he gazed in a rather detached fashion at one of the pieces on the wall. His mind supplied the time period, the artist, the style, cataloged the colours, techniques, type of paint but it drew no emotion from him. Art never did.
Cam continued to look at it, though, as if he might be able to look past the logical, the facts, the mundane to see what was underneath. "As for why I'm here, well." He looked uncomfortable as he turned back to look at her, confused for a moment as he raised a hand to brush fingertips lightly over one of his temples. "I'm not entirely sure. Marc's on vacation, we- I have a lot of work to be doing, but I managed to get Dave to give me a half an hour off. I've been thinking quite a bit. Quite hard. About a lot of things, really."
Maybe he had showed up at the gallery in an attempt to quiet his mind, something that only Marc, Bryn, and coke had ever really given him. Maybe he had showed up because he cared far too much about Mischa. But Cam just shrugged and ran his fingers through his hair in a gesture of slight anxiety and agitation. "But I figured I'd stop by. See how work is going. I would have brought coffee or some of those caffeinated lollipops... but this was a rather split-second decision."
Cam gave her a lopsided smile with an edge of hope underneath. "Hope it's alright, though."