Dumas sensed Mari’s discomfort during the cab ride back to Wonderland, and he wished he knew how to ease it.  But he didn’t.  Every time he glanced at her, he felt sure that his eyes were full of the same helplessness and pity that people directed at him during his little lapses -- and which he vehemently hated.  So while she stared at the floor of the cab, he stared out the window, watching the scenery roll by and wondering how a decorated war hero could be such a goddamn coward.<br/><br/>Finally, when they were about halfway back to the club, he reached out and wrapped his hand around hers, holding it in silence for the remainder of the journey.<br/><br/>While Mari changed her clothes, Dumas attempted to adjust to his new surroundings.  It had been a long time since he last stood in a woman’s bedroom.  His mother’s bedroom, if that counted.  And a couple of visits to hookers while he was in the military.  But other than that, he was completely unaccustomed to this level of femininity.  The flowers, and the pastel colors, and the delicate lace ruffles -- it all made him feel like a hulking brute, carelessly stomping his way through a fairy garden.<br/><br/>Mari’s offer earned a smile and a small shake of his head.  “Thanks.  But most of the time, I don’t even use my own bed.  I got used to sleeping on the ground in the military.  A mattress feels too soft...like I’m going to sink into it and suffocate.”<br/><br/>For a moment, Dumas studied his shoes.  He didn’t usually share those sort of details with other people.  But he’d seen a very vulnerable side of Mari today, and he figured that she deserved some reciprocation.<br/><br/>Then, eager to change the subject, Dumas brought his gaze back up to Mari’s face.  “Can I get you anything?  Some tea or hot chocolate?  Maybe a sandwich?”  Dumas wasn’t sure what Mari might have on hand, and his cooking skills were quite minimal anyway.  But he would be happy to prepare anything that didn’t require a technique more complicated than boiling water.