He was getting better at not reacting to every unwelcome change in his environment with an answer that involved pulling any triggers. Sometimes it never even crossed his mind. His guns were always there, to be sure, but they were a constant reminder of the net value of his worth as much as they did bring him comfort in their familiarity. A life of violence couldn't be easily unlearnt even if the circumstances beyond his control had changed. It was a delicate balance that the City was trying to manage with him, trying to reassure him with a false sense of security without making his existence devoid of purpose. But it would be only too easy to go back to old habits if it happened to be trouble waiting for him around the corner - or in this case, on the other side of the door.
Where some things had grown easily on him since his early days in this City, others didn't seem to take, like ill-fitting clothes weighing him down. Any efforts made on his behalf to integrate with City life hadn't been very fruitful to date. He'd all but given up on trying to leave, on trying to find his way back to a home that he had been growing increasingly certain that he would not be able to recognise or navigate. He didn't go to sleep half-expecting to wake up somewhere different yet again anymore, but there was an unshakeable sense of disappointment attached to that.
There was nothing disappointing, however, about Evey standing in the doorway. He greeted her with a small, tight-lipped smile and took two steps back, re-opening the familiar space to her. He was dressed quite plainly in a t-shirt and pants, but nothing about him ever really suggested he'd been lounging around taking things easy. He wasn't really the type. About the most threatening thing in his space was a book with impressionist artworks sitting open on the coffee table.
"Evey. It's been a while." Not an accusation, barbed comment or a lament. That was just Preston's way of asking (without having to ask) how she'd been lately.