"Nah." Now he grins again, fit to beat the damn band. "Just pullin' your leg, Freckles. Ordered you the southern pervert special: grits, ham with red-eye gravy, biscuits." Shaking his head, he laughs again. "Nah, don't worry. I'm takin' good care of both our breakfast needs. Think you'll like it."

And in the meantime, till it gets here -- and who knows if it'll take extra long or if the robots are playin' catch-up 'cause of the blackout or whatever, although everything else seems like it's a go -- he'll take care of that shot-up leg of hers, and rub her back or neck if she wants, and let her tell him heroic tales about what all else happened or get mad at him for not ordering up Coke and fries, or... hell, just about anything. He ain't the type of man to go around missin' no one, but he didn't like that elevator business at all, not one little bit and he's glad as hell not to be alone no more.

Maybe sometime he'll even tell her about seein' Daddy.

Maybe.