swallow my doubt, turn it inside out [open]

[notenlightened]

Reese has taken a seat at one of the tables in the corner of the Luna Bar, cradling what, to the naked eye, appears to be vodka of some kind. (Actually, it's only water.)

She's berating herself for the lapse in recovery (because, to Reese, she's relapsing just by being in a bar), but honestly, the only way to deal with the messed-up quality of

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[kindofbroken]

Five minutes after that hour has passed, Charlie Crews has tracked his partner into the Luna Bar.

It can't be said that he looks happy.

"Reese."

(It's his usual greeting, but if it's a bit of a gentle reprimand, he won't deny it.)

[notenlightened]

"Crews."

Her answer is casual, light, happy. Too happy.

She follows it up with a loose grin and a small wave.

"Come sit."

[kindofbroken]

He does exactly that, although his movements are a little awkward. His mouth is just barely quirked in concern.

Eying the glass, he nods at it with his chin.

"Reese? What're you drinking?"

[notenlightened]

She pauses, then eyes what remains inside the glass, swirling it around a few times.

"You know, I don't know. Maybe vodka? I think it's vodka. They probably have vodka here, don't they, Crews? S'what I asked for."