"Yeah, well, you look cozy enough," he shrugged, not especially concerned. The gun wasn't lost on him but neither was the fact that she was in a nightgown and so, as far as he was concerned, she could've waited around all night and it wouldn't have made a bit of difference. She'd always liked to complain about the small shit, anyway, he was used to that. Some things never did change. He stopped a few feet away from her, arms limp at his sides but he was ready to draw quick if it became necessary. Escape route, through the balcony, already planned.
For a moment he stood in silence, debating the necessity of any further small talk. Fuck that. They were beyond that point and he was barely polite to his friends let alone bitches who'd yanked his eye right out of his socket. He did know well enough, though, to come with a peace offering (or a shaky truce offering, really). This was in one of the inside pockets of the jacket he'd shrugged out of so he went back and brought it out, holding it out to her in the darkness. A familiar small jar that held his eye. "Thought you might want this back. You worked so fucking hard for it. Sentimental value."