"Hovercycle, anyway -- Was a pain in the ass to move," she replies. Roxanne's already getting pen and paper from her purse, getting the address. Writing the unit number down even though it was on the key. She tore it off, came back and extended it to him.

Her lips twisted into a wry smile, and she fell back into banter. It was safe. Easy, familiar, and just like old times. "Happy Christmas, I guess. If you can call giving you your own stuff a gift, anyway."