Lexa's eyes flicked down to his proffered arm, and then back up to him with a raised eyebrow. But there was no venom in her stare. Pushing herself up from her seat, she walked past him towards the door. Her hand reached into her pocket to pull out a set of jangling keys with an odd little purple puff ball attached by a chain to the keyring. Walking out the door, she waited until Jack was out before closing it and locking up. 

Slipping her keys back in her pocket, Lexa brought her free hand to try and wipe at her eyes again. God, she hated crying. She hated the way her eyes stung and her nose tingled. Most of all, she hated how others looked at her. Like she was pitiable. Something to be cared for and handled delicately. Like she would break.

Like she was already broken.

Her mind flashed back to the images the… the man (the one she'd maimed, the one she'd possibly [i]killed[/i]) had shown her, the horrible aching [i]pain[/i] that had stabbed at her. A quiet intake of breath was the only hint at what was going on in her mind as she stared hard at the ground. Lexa flashed back to the present, clenching her fists in frustration. The open wounds on her knuckles stung at the movement, pain flaring in her hands. She'd likely fractured something. It'd be healed within a day or so.

Pressing her lips together, Lexa forced her attention up. She looked up at Jack expectantly, waiting for him to lead the way. He seemed… ok. A little overbearing maybe, but not the worst person she'd ever met. She'd taken him up on his offer of alcohol on a whim (because lord knew she needed some right about now) and wasn't yet sure if she was going to regret this.

If he tried anything she could handle it. If she couldn't stand him she'd leave. Either way, Lexa figured her day couldn't get any worse.