Angela watched as he took his medication, relieved that he was, and wasn't fighting it. That told her he had been miserable and in a distinct amount of pain. He looked much like he was hungover, and she had seen him hungover plenty in her time. Hangovers for Clint meant that he had a really hard night out, because general booze like beer or wine didn't tend to affect him. It was how he could easily be an undercover PI and slip in and out of disguises as he needed, keeping up the whole facade. He didn't get drunk if someone he was tailing offered him booze. "We won't do that. This isn't about us. Our shit can be put on hold for awhile. Our priority his help you and Lincoln, and you need help. It's okay that you need help. I'm sorry I've been a crazy cunt about the baby stuff. The residual hormones made me nuts. I've mellowed now."

She gave him a small nudge in the leg. "No, dickwad. Haven't you realised by now I want to keep you around? Killing you would be counterproductive. You and I living together alone made me want to kill you. This would be more than just us, and in a much bigger space. I don't think it's extreme. People share living spaces all the time. I've been looking at properties, and I found this place. If we all pitch in on some savings, we'll be able to afford a deposit. I'll be an investment on top of everything else. Here, look." She took her phone out and showed him the property listing. "It's just come on the market. The family are moving out this week, so it'll be vacant."