[If your route to the shower goes straight through the kitchen then sorry, you can't avoid her up on a stool next to the island in the middle of the room. And she doesn't miss him, for as quiet as he is, she's so used to listening for the smallest rustling of sound that she knows he's back. But he's not slamming any doors, so there's that to consider.
While he was out shooting out the brains of his enemies, she was baking the most disgustingly chocolate cake fathomable. Possibly to distract herself away from his business, which she thought she did a very good job of. Considering she didn't snoop in too much to the broadcast, and actually shut it off before any shots were fired. And left it in the other room. And cranked up the bedroom stereo for a bit.
She'd pat herself on the back if she wasn't licking frosting off her thumb. There's no flashes of surprise when she sees him, though her eyes are quick to flick him over. Blood splatter is not something she's unaccustomed to.] No dripping on my tiles.