Steve's a hard guy to miss. Kate's well aware he can be stealthy, move through shadows like a ghost, be perfectly still for hours if he needs. But he's still a hard man to miss with those eyes and that body and the presence. At least, he's hard for her to miss.

She still thinks its a crying damned shame he into Danny, or that they're not into threesomes. Kate tells herself she thinks that, but she's had too much tequila tonight to believe it.

When she arches off her post, she polishes off her beer too and sets it on the bar counter. Her sobriety's measured in small things: the glass not clanking on the counter, her steps not feeling unsteady, her mind not running in depressive circles. She hasn't climbed on a table or into anyone's lap yet.

"Hey," she says to him quietly, leaning really close up at the bar.