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Behind the door labeled 139, it was a little dim and a little quiet. It was also warm, oppressively so, which was why Sherry had opted to wear as little as possible. She sat on her floor, back against the bed, in shorts and a tank top, holding a skirt in her hands and a needle in her lips.

She was feeling a bit better. Talking about it had helped immensely. She would have to remember to thank Nevada again later. They really should hang out more, Sherry decided. Sadly, such things could not be done all the time, which was why she was sitting on her floor mending a hem.

She had thought about sitting in her room and sniffling and wondering why and doing all the things she usually did. But then she'd remembered she had things to fix, and well, taking her mind off the pain and numbness could only help.

Unaware of the hesitation happening outside her door, Sherry hissed as the needle poked her skin for the third time. Her concentration was not the best, she had to admit. She stuck the abused finger in her mouth and with her right hand stuck the needle safely into the pincushion. She'd have to finish fixing the skirt later, which really wasn't a problem seeing as there was no where to wear it at the moment.

Needle tucked away, her hand reached for her drink. Hot island days made for thirst and thirst made for empty glasses. Darn. She was out of beverage. She glanced around the room. She had water, but she felt like having something else. Food had been awful, and a semi tasty drink offset that awful a smidge. And right now, she wanted every bit of pleasure she could muster.

Which meant... a trip to the lounge and/or kitchen area. Perhaps she could still rustle up something to flavor her drink with. If she were lucky. She didn't really care what it was, she just wanted something. So, she got to her feet and moved to the door, not even pausing as she opened it.

She was already half a step into the hall when she realized not only was she not alone in her bit of hall, but that she knew body that was mere steps from her door. "Oh."

She hadn't planned on seeing him. She hadn't really planned on bothering him, not that soon at least. There was no way he'd want to see the stranger who just showed up with all her feelings and memories and tears. Give it time. That had been her plan. Or at least one of them. Give it time, time enough that it wouldn't hurt so bad when looked at her with that confused, apologetic gaze, the one that told her she was little more than a stranger to him.

But there he was, and the sight of him had caused her to freeze in place. Part of her wanted to duck back into the room and pretend she'd not seen him. Part of her wanted to walk over and hug him. She ended up doing neither because started talking to her. Apologizing, again, for not remembering.

The whisper was low but firm.

Sherry wasn't listening to her weapon. She was listening to Jake, who suddenly stopped talking and was turning to leave again.

"Wait." She didn't even think about it, the word just tumbled out. "Please." She didn't want him to leave. She knew that much. How silly and selfish was that? He didn't know her and he was wanting to leave. But her chest was hurting now and she didn't want him to go. "Wondering if I wanted to what?

She smiled at him. It was still a sad smile, a quiet smile, but it was whole and not forced and it reached her eyes. She smiled and gave him a small nod. "Of course. I'd like that."

He obviously still didn't remember her if he had to ask that question. It was obvious anyway, going by his body language. Or maybe that was showing something else? Only one way to know for certain.

"I'd very much like that," she reiterated. "Come on in." She waved at him, asking him to come closer and then stepped back into her room. She was glad to see that other than the coat piled on the chair and the mess of sewing by the bed, it was rather clean that day.

She turned and looked at him. She looked tired, but a day filled with more crying than sleep will do that to a person. Her face remained pleasant though. The ache was there, the numb, but she was doing a fine job of keeping it bottled at that moment.

"Positive," she said, nodding. "If you want to talk, I'd rather not do it in the hall." Especially not while wearing nothing but her shorts and a tank. She didn't even have shoes on, Jake.

She wasn't wearing it to impress him, it had just been what was on under her coat when she took it off. If she hadn't been so very preoccupied with hurting, she'd be trying to figure out why people ever lived in tropical locations before things like Air Conditioning were invented. It was hot.

Of course, as she turned around to face him, she found herself questioning her judgement. Not because she was against people in her room, but because he looked a little unsure of things. He'd looked similar last time she'd invited him in for a chat and... Sherry shook her head, trying to push the memory out. That was then. This was now. Nothing was the same. He wasn't the same. No expectations, she told herself.

Her partner grumbled lazily in her head. Armagnac was listening.

Sherry kicked at the sewing, pushing it closer to the wall as she reached down and picked up her scarf and coat. She thought about putting them on, but it was warm in her room, and too late to cover her scars anyway. Mostly it was warm, so she put the coat on the desk, freeing up the chair.

"What did you want to talk about?"

Hot weather sucked, ok.

But she blinked at him. She saw the flush, or thought she did though she may not have known why. Had it not been so hot, had she not been so torn up and and numb inside she might have felt a bit more self-conscious. She was too tired and it was too hot, and she was trying really hard not to fret in front of him.

"Me?" she asked, blinking at him in worry. She was blushing now, and she crossed her arms in front of her a bit defensively. This was the part where he told her to never bother him again, wasn't it?

She suddenly wished she had put on her coat, or that they'd stayed in the hall. Feeling exposed in your own room was a bit unnerving.