Sarge isn't foolish enough to allow that strange ball of warmth in his chest to expand at all as they drive, because it almost seems like happiness and that is dangerous. There is too much to think about still and, from the looks of it, complications ahead that would most likely put a damper on it anyway.
But he gives himself some leeway and is content with the situation at hand, that vague feeling of guilt and the Addie shaped hole between them filled things are looking better than they did two hours ago. He can accept that. The rest is for late nights by the fire in which he will stare into the flames and brood and he is almost looking forward to having new problems to ponder.
Sarge gets off his bike and wipes at his face with the back of his hand, but the dust is everywhere and it's irritating A as hell. "Thought we might come back in bags. Told you we should've brought that red carpet from the hotel last month," he huffs and squints in a futile effort to clear his vision. Of course they would have prepared something special if they had known but they didn't and he doesn't think Addie would have been impressed anyway. But this is theirs, the home that they built and he knows that's good enough. Or will be, once things have settled.