Rogers unlocked the door and Tilly stepped inside onto the 'Welcome Home' mat. "We're here. Make yourself at home," he said as he took off his shoes. The apartment was a big open space with the kitchen and living room connected; the only exits being the front door and a hallway presumably leading to the bedrooms.

Everything was new to Tilly and she couldn't believe it herself, hoping it wasn't fake as she clenched her hands over her backpack straps nervously. The apartment smelled faintly of coffee and something sharply familiar. She just couldn't pick it out. "Do you only sleep here, Detective?" Tilly asked, eyeing the place, not moving as he closed the door and moved around her to lock it.

"I don't sleep in the living room if that's what you're wondering. You're my first roommate in a long time," he replied, casually throwing his keys into a bowl on the kitchen table and neatly placing his jacket on the coat rack. This question threw Rogers out of the loop as he realized maybe he didn't know how to handle guests.

Technically, the last time he had a roommate, it had been his older brother and that didn't necessarily count. It had been his fault that Liam had been in the line of fire when they were on a case shortly after graduating into the police force. They had been on a high speed chase, but Rogers was slightly drunk while driving and the criminals had shot. He lost a hand in the wreckage, but his brother, Liam, had lost his life with the damage from a bullet and the fatal blow of the crash. He spiraled after that with alcohol and accepted any cases the other officers didn't want. His addiction and self loathing led him to lose Eloise Gardener, gain sobriety, and find her again. Yet, he still felt like he was missing something. Rogers didn't think he deserved anyone near himself, in case he screwed up again. The exception had been Tilly.

Seeing her in need and feeling the sense of calm he did around her, he didn't need persuasion to ask her to room with him. Of course, he hadn't thought about it much until right then. Rogers knew he had acted on instinct. He didn't regret that but he had his doubts. What if I'm not ready? What if I end up hurting her more than helping? Rogers tried to act calm at the prospect of having Tilly living with him, not sure how she'd handle the new environment and he didn't want to scare her back into staying in her boxcar, where it was unsafe currently since the Candy Killer had framed her and was still on the loose.

"Why do you ask?" he questioned with a hesitant smile, scratching the back of his neck with his hand.

She didn't take notice of his nervousness as she was more preoccupied with her own, afraid of dirtying his wooden flooring with her damp and slightly muddy boots, feeling quite intrusive despite his already inviting welcome. What if I take up too much of his space by entering his life? she thought. Everywhere she had been, people made her feel as if she was too much once they saw she wasn't what they wanted. If she made one small step in, it might be too late to turn back, enough to get attached.

Back at the group home, Tilly had roommates before, but most of them found her weird or less fun to be around, leaving her to feel lonely or like a burden. There were always a bunch of rules and schedules she managed to follow, but she had a hard time fitting in with the children there, keeping her mess in order most of the time. Trapped in a place where she was secondhand and not easily adopted, it was part of the reason why she had managed to run away in the first place. Tilly hadn't wanted to wait until she was eighteen only to be discarded again, pushed out of the system, and so she had made her home inside a boxcar in a deserted alleyway where no one could shoo her away. At least then, if she had to be alone, it made her feel like it was her own choice. She would just have to be okay with that.

Yet, for the first time in a long time, Tilly had the hope that she'd found a potential safe spot where she didn't have to be alone anymore. Hope was a dangerous feeling, but Rogers's apartment smelled comforting. "That's not what I mean," she huffed as she padded the edge of her boot along the lettering of the mat, "Something smells familiar, but far away locked away like an old memory." Tilly shuffled a bit on the rug, pacing what she could on the small rectangle.

Rogers was puzzled. Was this another one of her thoughts gone astray? It was already late in the night, but she wouldn't move off the topic, murmuring words to describe the smell. He didn't want to invalidate her belief, so he tried to have a go at what she could smell. He sniffed around as she mentioned apples, grass, and an assortment of plant related things.

"Tilly, I'm not sure what you're smelling. I don't smell anything," he said as he walked around the open living room and kitchen space. There wasn't anything off to him and he was relieved to make sure there wasn't a gas leak. "Would you like to lead me to where you think it is?" Rogers asked.

Tilly paused in her pacing. She said faintly, "I would love to, but I don't think I can go past this spot." Mud was all over the mat and he could tell she was frustrated. He didn't know what it was or why she was acting so strangely despite her being fine before they stepped in, but he took a deep breath to calm himself.

Judging from what he knew, Rogers assumed Tilly was probably not going to leave the mat or get to sleep if she didn't figure out what the smell was. Hopefully my detective skills are up to the task , he thought to himself. "If you're worried about the mud or wet socks, I can clean it up later. I want you to know that I'm not going to kick you out for making some mess. I don't know what you've been through before tonight, but if it's important to you, I want to help you find what you're looking for." Rogers found himself saying the words more easily than he imagined, with pure conviction that whatever she needed, he would stop at nothing to help her.

Tilly nodded with tears brimming in her eyes as she said, "Okay," as she unexpectedly grabbed his gloved prosthetic hand, and he did the best he could to support her as she balanced on one foot at a time, taking off her muddy boots and wet socks.

He guided her, prompting her to step carefully off the mat with each boot and put them next to the door. Tilly laughed and teased, "I've got this. I'm not a child, Detective."

Rogers playfully rebuked, "Says the one who grabbed my weak hand to take off their shoes."

She opened her mouth as if in reply and closed it. Tilly quickly let go of his gloved hand, looking away, "It was an accident." The detective was grinning with pride. He had made the quick witted informant speechless and things were less awkward again. However, seeing as his expression was not mirrored, he couldn't be more wrong. The blonde's eyes had widened as she realized what she could have done. In a frantic speech, she said, "Is your hand okay? I lost my balance, the wall wasn't nearby, and I didn't want to track more mud as I was."

His smile dropped and he looked down at his gloved hand. He didn't think his joke would make her upset. "It's okay. It happened long ago," he said with a grimace. Trying to prove his point, Rogers knocked on the prosthetic with his right hand, it ringing out with a dull metallic thud. She made a gasp, but clearly calmed down seeing he was alright. Waving his left arm, the prosthetic made a stilted wave as it had no wrist mobility. With a soft smile, he said, "It will take more than that to break the titanium." Rogers motioned her towards the hallway. "Now will you please help me with your mystery scent?" he asked, walking into the empty hallway and turning on the light switch.

Tilly chuckled nervously, having momentarily forgotten about the smell, but grateful that he wasn't too hung up about it. Trying to find where the scent was coming from, she followed Rogers left towards the entrance leading to the bedrooms and bathroom. He opened all three doors to them. Tilly looked around but didn't get far before her eyebrows furrowed, saying to Rogers, "Not this way. The smell fades." He wanted to help, but clearly she knew what she was looking for better.

"Are you sure you're not part bloodhound? You didn't even enter the rooms," he quipped, following her out of the hallway.

"Very funny," she said, rolling her eyes.

On her way out, Tilly took notice of his record collection and multiple books on ships and art on his bookshelf. "Hmm, a prized collection and things of interest. You're more interesting than I thought," she said as she slid books in and out of the shelf checking their titles. Rogers raised his eyebrow at that but left her alone to continue on her hunt.

As the smell got stronger, Tilly started admiring the living room for the first time since it had been glazed over from her memory when she first walked in. From the front of it, the black leather sofa, that she had seen only the back of earlier from the doorway, was smooth with a wooden coffee table and red rug in front of it. A small flat screen TV placed on top of a table against the wall was opposite from it. The area was spacious with a balcony on the far right end, beige curtains drawn together to hide the sun from warming up the room too much during the day. As Tilly drew near the curtains, ready to head around the sofa and back to the doorway, the smell became distinct. Pointing to the curtains, she said, "It's definitely here! I know it."

Rogers halted in his steps and opened the curtains. The balcony screen door was slightly ajar and all that was out there were some paint cans and canvases under a tarp. Pulling open the door and grabbing the things in, Rogers yelled, "Bloody hell, my paintings!" Tilly pulled them inside as he handed them to her. He explained, "I was leaving some out to dry this morning and forgot about them."

"Well, it's a good thing you remembered to put a tarp over them," Tilly replied, looking at each painting carefully as she put them down, "I would hate it if any of my works were damaged." The paintings depicted landscapes of the ocean, ships, and ports of places with strange foods and languages.

One of them was a painting of a large ship in the distance on soft waves with dark clouds in the horizon. "I've seen this before," she muttered. Tilly brushed her fingers over the dry textured colors on the canvas.

Rogers carried in the remaining cans and bottles of oil in a container before closing the balcony door. Looking at what she was sitting on the floor entranced with, he responded, "Yeah. I call that the 'Calm Before The Storm'. I showed it to Eloise the other day. Don't know why she wanted to see it or how she knew I painted," he shrugged, "but you clearly were in a pickle over it."

Tilly, turned to him, fists clenched, exclaiming, "That's because she's a monster! I'm glad she's safe and you are too, but I don't know. I still have a bad feeling about her." She sighed, staring back at the painting, letting it soak some of her emotions away, "It's a fitting name for a lovely piece. I'm sorry. I don't remember much of that day after getting angry at you and seeing her. I don't know what came over me."

Rogers, putting his hand on her shoulder, said, "It's nothing to worry about. You weren't feeling well and I was too stressed out that day to listen. It was a disaster waiting to happen."

She fumbled with her hands and cracked a smile, "Guess it really was the 'Calm Before The Storm' huh?" He nodded in agreement.

She picked up the paintings, handing them neatly to him before looking at the oils, bringing each of them up for a sniff. Tilly's expressions changed multiple times during the smell session until she settled upon something, bringing one of the bottles into a warm embrace. Her eyes started tearing up and she set the bottle down to wipe her tears away with her jacket sleeves.

Rogers, seeing her movement out of his peripheral vision and hearing her muffled sobs, stopped in his tracks of painting inspection and organization on the sofa. "Tilly! Are you alright?" He scrambled over, sitting in front of her and grabbing her shoulders, quickly questioning, "Why are you crying? Are you allergic to something? Did you get any in your eyes?" He stared at the jar of brushes and turpentine before his attention dropped to the linseed bottle she had near her. It wasn't toxic but it wasn't meant to be accidentally ingested or rubbed in eyes either. He was paralyzed by fear that something bad happened so soon while he wasn't watching, but steadied himself since the chances were slim.

She managed to slow her breathing to say, "I'm okay." It took her a few more minutes and gulps of air to regain her words. "I guess, after all this time, I didn't expect to be gutted." Tilly grabbed the linseed oil bottle and held it close.

"That was the smell you were looking for, wasn't it?" he asked.

"Yeah." Her eyes watered as she looked at its contents. "My father used to paint and I liked watching him. Sometimes, he'd let me make my own creations. I'd get paint all over my clothes, but it was fun. After he was…" She set aside the bottle once more and wistfully continued, "Well, it's not like I was ever able to touch something like that again. Those days are long gone now."

Rogers was reminded of what Weaver had said about Tilly's past before they split up and he went to go look for Tilly. He might not know what led up to her father's untimely demise, but she was close to him and seemed wrecked at the hole that he left. "I'm sorry to hear that. I'm sure your father would love to see who you turned out to be today despite the bumps you've encountered throughout your life. If you want, you can keep the bottle and take it with you to your room."

"Nah, I think I'll be alright," she said, rubbing her eyes. Tilly moved the bottle back into the plastic tub with the rest of the cans and oils. She rebounded, amused, with a chuckle, "Guess some things never change," as she noticed traces of acrylic paint, spray paint, and charcoal dust on her jacket and tights from her usual art activities. Rogers smiled as he followed in her delight.