Log: The Cat - Cat/Matt
[Free beer wasn't the crux of it, obviously, and she knew as well as he did that he wasn't likely to get drunk on beer. That wasn't the point. He thought about the bike. The pictures, back at the B&B, he'd barely looked at - the sketch he had glanced over, then folded into his pocket along the original lines. It made a neat and pleasing square, and he tucked it in deeply, where it would be safe.
Nothing about the government rattled or frightened him. He knew what the worst was that they could do to him, and while being in the facility, with its white walls and sterile scent, made him nauseous, that was about the past, not the present. He didn't trust him, but he felt he knew their limits. He felt safe in the knowledge that Steve was too valuable an asset for them to harm him. But his unexplained departure still gnawed at him. It probably would for a while.
He arrived at the Cat in a loose denim jacket (had to be, to fit around the arm) and the same steel-toed boots as always, but he had cleaned up since his new post. He didn't sleep much, but it didn't show on his face. He didn't really get dark circles, or any of the small imprints of fatigue that showed on other people.
He slid around the back of the empty bar, pulled out a clean glass, and settled it under the tap.] You? [He'd get her drink for her, of course. He didn't look tired, but he felt it, the weight of the drawing in his pocket, and the conversation he'd never been able to have. He'd missed his chance, and he knew it.]