[His words made her frown, slight and confused, down at her hands. She couldn't come to terms with him actually wanting to help her, convinced that people only ever helped her out of obligation. She still couldn't understand why he was there, if not to make sure that she didn't hurt anyone in the city. But she knew, too, that she didn't really have anywhere else to go, no one else she could ask for help. Especially with him derailing her plan of finding a new shelter. So she slipped her fingers into his offered hand, and had a moment of feeling strangely feminine as she was helped from the car. Like someone from an old movie - the type that had played low on televisions when she'd been in the hospital - someone that should be dresed to the nines and ready to spend the entire night at a party.
But then she was standing on the curb, and she was just her. Layers of clothing that was still mostly clean but certainly nothing fancy, hand lingering in Bruce's grip because she wasn't quite sure how to pull it away. And after a moment she looked up from her borrowed shoes on the pavement. Up and up, until she realized that there was a name on the building in front of her. And then she frowned, confused as her mind did its best to catch up with the fact that this was not a warehouse in front of her. It was no place to hide. For a moment she thought that perhaps he needed to pick something up for himself. From home. But the next moment brought the realization that he had his own home that was not the building in front of them.] What are we doing?