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Well she could cook more than him, probably better too, so that was a plus as much as likely salvation for the both of them, less they fall into the perpetual frozen pizza trap. But the conversation didn’t elaborate, not that he was looking to nitpick the specifics of her cooking skills. Some was better than his solid none, though perhaps that would be something worth learning so long as he’d have the time on his hands.<br/>
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The conversation moved on, Mia’s subsequent inquiry wondering to the nature how he’d ended up in this position, if it were so voluntary or not.<br/>
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“I put in for it… –well,” He paused to further consider that answer, then clarified. “Put in for witness protection, anyway. I didn’t know anything about your case until a few days before now.” For obvious reasons. There was vulnerability in retaining such secret knowledge for an extended period longer than it took to pack and just get the hell out of dodge. “Mostly it’s a résumé thing for me.” He shrugged, his previous smile still remnant, maybe a tinge wider. Business was business baby. “I had a choice, just not with who, or where, or what.”<br/>
'<i>And so far no complaints'</i> was promptly rejected from being shared aloud, though he was close for what an ease of conversation she was proving so far. In another scenario he’d imagined talking her up might not be so hard, their rapport seemed compatible enough.<br/>
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“Departments like to see versatility in their officers, and a job like this’ll be earnin’ me a lot of brownie points.” He glanced back at her, maybe in time to meet her eyes, maybe not. “And I’ve been savin’ them for a while. Once I have enough I’ll be able to transfer to just about anywhere, which is the plan.” Maybe even back to Ireland, if he so wished.<br/>
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It wasn’t long before they’d arrived at the store, their conversation and all the tidbits between perhaps just long enough to fill the distance. She seemed eager though, out of the cab and readied on the sidewalk maybe almost before his seatbelt was even flung back into cinched alignment.  Well, if one of them was going to get excited about shopping he supposed it’d best be her, already knowing himself to better loathe it. Although, the environment made a difference, noted as he followed her inside, the space more open which made whatever bodies within seem a whole lot less crowded.<br/>
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Yeah, he would come to like small town life just fine.<br/>
William followed her, not entirely like a dawdling husband if anyone should wonder, offering a suggestion or two if she asked, but otherwise staying unobtrusively alert. And Mia weaved with certain ease, isle to isle, as he tried to discern over time what it was she planned to make. It had become a private game of ‘what’s in the basket is what’s on the menu’ though he lost track somewhere between snacks.<br/>
Mystery surprise it would be.<br/>
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Then, what luckily felt like no more than a good twenty minutes, they were already finding themselves at the register, Will trailing behind to pick at the sparse rack of magazines on the end-cap. Most of them were goofy tabloids, the ol’ dependable readers digest and then ah, a small cooking journal that might come in handy. It had a promising looking stew on the cover, he hardly thought they could go wrong, so he plucked it free it's loose cage and shifted to toss it into the pile–<br/>
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The physical commotion was what reeled back his attention, all things prior sort of lost to his thoughts as uneventful. Before he could move, and maybe before the small magazine had even hit the belt, Mia was already on the floor, heaving for the loss of her breath. It was strangled in her throat for a panic he didn’t register until he’d paced quickly forward, beside her, and then down to a rapid couch. <br/>
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His tone was immediately strained, sharpened by concern. <br/>
“Jesus– Mia what’s wrong?“<br/>
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He’d a hand already pressed at her back, that space between her shoulder blades for both sudden assurance of his presence as much as acknowledgement for it. The last thing he wanted was her coming around swinging, wilded by the onslaught of her clear anxiety.<br/>
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“What the hell happened?” His gaze shot upward next, brows a bit pinched for both question and perhaps a little bewilderment, all countenance re-fixated toward the looming face of the quizzical cashier.<br/>
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