After he took his seat opposite from her, where she'd already neatly laid out the cutlery, he nodded but otherwise said nothing in response, gaze flickering from the leafy greens to curiously watching her expression. It had taken time and self-schooling to learn what the different curves in eyebrows and lips and eyes all meant. But unlike Beauty who had made an excellent case study, whom he could always tell when she was happy or sad or angry with him, Evey was more difficult to read.
In a different world, in a different life, she could have been a Cleric.
At home it had been adequate to give the children a look they found somewhat unsettling to get a conversation going - it worked even more effectively in an interrogation room - but Evey had long ago lost any sepia-tinted halcyon childhood days she might have had, and she was no criminal.
He stabbed one of several leaves on his plate with his fork a little too forcefully in frustration with himself before he pursed his lips, lowered his gaze to his white-knuckled fist and loosened his grip, setting the fork down quietly. Preston was not accustomed to being in a position of not having a proverbial plan of attack.
"Evey," he started softly, his hand moving to stroke down the side of his cool glass of water with a stray finger. His gaze flickered to her face before he re-focused on the still water, resting his fingertips on the table's surface.
"I..." He held his breath for an unusually long time, averting his gaze as he struggled to find the right words to say, uncannily feeling handicapped by the freedom of being able to articulate himself in any way he wished.
"You've-" A soft sigh escaped his lips as he started breathing again. His brows furrowed as he was pointedly Not Fidgeting and yet his Adam's apple was moving, his foot slid two inches to the side and the tip of his tongue smoothed across his upper lip.
"I- I... don't know how to ask you what's happened."