Derek knew what they were doing. He had spoken to Mike, lied to Mike, called on it until he'd given a partially truthful version that appeased him (and Vance, because Derek didn't doubt that it would be reported), but that still didn't say anything about him, and had been told about connecting to others, need to talk behavioral therapy and a lot of other words that were supposed to be comforting, but that Derek associated with weaknesses. He didn't need connections or a sense of inner peace. He needed anger and isolation. That would help him win the war.
He didn't say any of that to Nell, but went along. Mostly. He refused to go on a horse for no reason. He certainly didn't see the need for any of this. He also missed his rifle. Since last Sunday, the feel of steel under his fingers was the most reassuring thing, more than the talks, the reassurances, his rifle was what made him feel good and he couldn't carry it around while on vacation. He couldn't wait until they were back to the safe house.
Dinner was the final event for the day, and that made him happy. He could finally change into his jeans, get his gun ad possibly make a round or two around the perimeter. His thoughts were so far removed from the conversation that he almost choked at the question. Instead, he frowned as he stared at her. "It's not a date. I might not know much about dating, but I'm pretty sure that I'm supposed to know that it's a date, and this isn't a date, but the desserts all sound like weird combinations that are meant to ruin good food. I guess that is the least offensive."