Frank snorts and rolls his eyes as he leans back on his chair, legs up on the arm of the sofa with his plate resting on one thigh and his beer held over the other. He's not sure he's ever felt so relaxed, even long before Kandahar; not that he ever likes to compare the two opposing lifetimes he's led. But sitting here with her, eating meat off a stick and watching a dumbass rescue dog play his heart out isn't so bad.

The thanks is registered and filed away without comment, knowing she'd prefer it that way. He already said thank you in his way for her help with the task so it seems natural to just sit back and enjoy it. He's content enough to let the Sun run itself down while they eat in comfortable silence. After his meal is done he nurses the rest of his beer, trying not to let it make him sleepy when he promised her a walk but his eyes begin to droop despite himself.