Jim was grateful for the distinct lack of trouble coming his way after he made his way in. His bag hadn't come off his shoulder yet, and he rolled his eyes affectionately at her comment. He set his bag down properly in the hall just inside the living room, and then moved in to give her a hug, kissing the side of her head.

It meant a lot that he did that, considering he'd never really come from anything remotely resembling an affectionate sort of family. Christopher Pike had been like a father to him, and by proxy that meant that Number One was probably the closest thing to a not absent mother that he ever had.

"Oh, barely here two minutes and the sarcasm. I see how it is. Okay."

It was when Jim pulled away that he finally started to take in things, big and small. The smell of the house from an actual meal cooked in the kitchen, not replicated and made to look like dinner. That was also when he caught the half empty glass of wine on the dinner table as well, though he couldn't see further into the kitchen from where he was.

"Cooking isn't your thing," Jim starts, voice a little low, like a hushed whisper. "I--Is somebody else here too?"

Someone else here with you was heavily implied, but he didn't say that. I mean, of course she had every right to do as she pleased. He just guessed---well, he's not sure what he guessed. Look, it didn't matter. She seemed happy. Happier than the last time he'd seen her before they'd left on their five year.

That was good, right? Yeah, course it was.