They were going to meet with the wingman? He supposed that there were worse things in the world to do, and he suspected that any hunting would require her out of uniform anyway. He decided that it wasn't worth complaining about since he was still spending time with her and had her close. He noted that she dropped back to walk beside him, a swell of warmth in his chest that she wanted to be so companionable with him rather than just let him guard her back. She cared; she had come to give him structure and now care. No one had cared for him in a very, very long time. People didn't care for weapons after all; they kept them in good working order and pulled their trigger.

He walked with an easy killing grace, no movements wasted as they walked through the park, but he knew where they were going before he saw the end point. He knew the man from sight, had planted his boot firmly into the man's chest after removing his ability to fly. There were fond memories about that as well, being shot at bonded men even if they had been enemies at the time. No matter, he assessed the level of threat posed to him with a glance.

Then he caught the smile that Stephanie gifted Sam, and neutrality bled easily to coldness. One hand brushed the edge of the hilt of his knife, so easy to reach, so quick to draw, but she had ordered him to be nice, so he would be nice. He stopped and looked at the car like it might explode before he frowned and did as he was told, moving to the back seat where there was more room in his opinion. His blue eyes flicked to stare at the two, assessing the situation, cataloging it, watching Stephanie most of all.