[ oh, she probably ought to have all kinds of explanations ready for him, if she's honest. owes it to him to explain what's gone on in her head to cause the rapidly shifting treatment, but— she's not certain she's got words for it, herself. as mercurial as her behavior had been, it had all been an effort to avoid thinking about whatever those soft, warm feelings are settling in her chest.

she can't truly make sense of them herself, let alone articulate them for faraday.

(though there's a part of her that's not even remotely certain he'd want to hear it, if she managed to piece together a proper explanation.)

she keeps her hands occupied by preparing her meal, casting a glance towards him. she likes the warmth in his tone, she thinks, though she knows better than to say a thing about it — simply tucks it away with the rest of the flutters that accompany all of this. ]

Them and the bottle.

[ not that she's even sure if he can drink it, state that he's in, but it's the meaning she'd gone for, rather than the nature of the spirits. she certainly doesn't think he'd manage any kind of drunkenness, ghost that he is, but now that he can feel again, she thought perhaps he'd be able to enjoy the taste of fine alcohol.

the last bit gets an exasperated little sigh out of her, and she turns back to the counter with a roll of her eyes. ]

Responsible for callin' down the devil now, am I?

[ she just scoffs as she reaches for a knife, meaning to cut a few vegetables. ]

I suppose at least there's some measure of comfort for you now you've got a deck all your own; you won't have to go about sharin' with me.

[ she doesn't say it with any measure of bitterness — mostly, it's just a statement of fact. the deck that faraday had procured all those months ago can easily be the one emma uses for herself, while this brand new, previously untouched deck can be faraday's own.

it can be something, in the midst of his own existence so far removed and otherwise limited, that belongs solely to him. ]