[A morning glory. That fits with... everything somehow, and she smacks her hand against the base of the sink after setting his dishes in, ignoring the pain that shoots up from the impact. Those damn flowers.

And another thought struck her, almost as if he had said the words himself. Compromised. There was too much to work through. Too much... and who knew when that draft would be. Both she and Caesar would be gone. But maybe that was getting too ahead of the basic problem. They could only handle this as fast as Albert could go... and he'd need all the help he could get to build those bridges back.]

... In the evening. You were working on the campaign. It's been ... one of the more prevailing things on your mind for days. Is that... familiar at all?