"Mr. Moran," Ted greets.
He gives a smile to the man flagging the right side of the house.
He crosses the sidewalk, walking directly to her new lead agent, though he'd heard a rumor that the position would soon be transferred over to Matt.
A pen is handed over.
"Any of the kids home?"
Frank shakes his head. "School and work," he says.
He nods, as he signs his name and initials on the log— the reason he'd asked was that Alison had opted to stay home yesterday.
He sets the pen on the clipboard before turning and making for the door. He walks straight through— a phone call for approval was no longer, if ever, needed for him.
They'd had a busy morning on seven, especially with her absence, so, although he would like to check in, he wants to be in and out, and back to the Truman before the end of lunch.
He walks straight to the stairs, not even bothering to spare a glance over the bottom floor. And he has one hand on the rail when—
"I'm right here if I'm the one you're looking for."
Her voice is so quiet that he almost misses her words. And when he turns, finding her sunken down into the far corner of the couch, she looks small, even more so with the heavy blanket draped across her lower half.
As he walks down the few steps he'd already climbed he takes the file tucked beneath his arm into his hand.
"Came for your signature," he says before he lowers himself down to the sofa. He sits on the opposite end, leaving her plenty of space in between them to hopefully not feel hovered over.
"How's the office?" She asks as she uses her elbows to push herself up to sitting.
"Just fine," he mutters as he flicks open the flap of the folder. He glances up. "And how are you?" He asks. "You look better."
She shies away, ducking her head— he knew she'd be a bit embarrassed, but he didn't imagine she'd feel uncomfortable with him of all people.
"I— I slept," she whispers. "Not a ton, but I slept."
He watches her for a moment, letting his eyes stay fixed on her face before roaming down to her hands— her fingers were pulling at the edges of the blanket on her lap. The anxiety was easy to spot, and he was a bit surprised she wasn't able to hide it a bit better. And although the nerves were there, and probably would be for a while, she looked a lot better than the days before and just after the funerals.
"I'm glad," he tells her.
He won't push her, not until she's ready.
He reaches over, and when her eyes lift up, he hands off the file, along with a pen— it was just one document today.
"Where's Henry?" He asks.
He'd texted him earlier, asking about her, but he had yet to receive a response.
"Sleeping," she says as she scribbles her name across the bottom. She lets out a long breath. "I think he stayed up all night watching me."
She leans forward, arm outstretched, and he takes the file from her hand.
He couldn't help but feel a bit angry that he'd left her by herself, but then, two people with zero to little sleep made for a bigger problem than just one.
"How about I stay?" He offers as he tosses the manilla folder onto the coffee table. "Just until he wakes up," he adds, looking over to her.
She looks hesitant, but she does give a small nod.
His eyebrows raise. "Yeah?"
"Okay," she says softly.
"Have you eaten?" He asks.
She pulls her knees up towards her chest. "I'm not very hungry Blake," she admits.
He thinks her lack of appetite is understandable.
"Then how about a walk?" He says as he stands. "Some fresh air would do you good."
He offers her his hand.
And as they walk, arm in arm, along the brick paved sidewalks of Georgetown, he names off restaurants he can pick up lunch from for the both of them tomorrow— He decides he'll discuss it with Henry later.