How they dance around each other fascinates her. She thinks about his incredulous, pleading language to pull her back when she was set to go after Voodoo's hide just days before, and now his blind fury while she wades by in an eerie calm. She tilts her head, eyeing him, arms still crossed.

She could take out her gun, hand it to him, let him be done with the situation for good. She could plead with him not to act too rash. She could ask why it's different now, why he couldn't let her march off the other night to confront Voodoo, but, now he's got a reason, he's going to accept that mantle. She could do any number of these things.

What she does, unflinchingly and with eyes turned a little grey, is give him the steady sort of look a young boy gets from a parent when he asks to ride a horse that's just too much for him.

"Y'sure y'know how t'handle it?"