Lita's understanding of who James is constantly evolving. The first time she ever clapped eyes on him, she knew he was trouble: golden, windswept hair, truck bed full of spoils and a bloody body in his backseat. Finding out he was a Hellhound and, later the Dog King himself, despite James' best and continued efforts to keep her in the dark threw her for a loop...more so than it probably should have. Just as he so willfully deceived her, Lita did the same to herself for far, far too long. There is no burying her head in the sand this time. It's not hearsay or a wanted poster or an article in a magazine; this is who James is. There's no explaining away the jumpsuit and cuffs and the very building they stand in. And yet, how she feels about him is unchanged; he holds her heart even now. She knows the risks of being here and yet the desire to protect him burns fierce, constant and unwavering. It's impossibly hard to see him like this...but it would be worse not seeing him at all.
"Well, if that were the only criteria to wind up here," Lita says, not missing the painful, concerted effort to seem like his old self. He's still trying to wear masks for her; she wishes he wouldn't. "You'd be a free man."
Forgetting herself, Lita brushes a thumb over his bruised and bloody knuckles. With Sarge, it had been easy to maintain the guise of professionalism. Any CO that should happen to pass by wouldn't ever consider they had any prior affiliation. Lita doesn't see how it would be any different when meets with Bishop later. With James, lines blur. It's hard to know what's safe and what's normal because they've never been safe and normal. She knows what she needs to do, what she came to this Godforsaken place to do. It's a linchpin moment; she knows how much is riding on this visit going smoothly. She can't put herself and James in any danger by forgetting that...as much as she wants to.
With a furtive glance to the door, Lita pulls her hand back and immediately feels bereft. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. Lita's eyes survey the multitude of injuries that cover James' body, categorizing and assessing where they are and their severity. She's not so naive as to think he hasn't done as much damage, if not more so, to others as has been done to himself; she wouldn't be here if he hadn't pushed the wrong buttons. Still, Lita can't begin to imagine the hell he's been through.