[Daniel] Contrary to expectations, Daniel's jaw had not dropped when Izzy showed up in a dress. The truth is, he was raised in a world so far removed from modern america that the social implications and connotations of different forms of dress meant almost as little to him as it would a wolf. He recognizes that this article is of a brighter hue than she normally wears, and that it covers somewhat less. Other than that, it's simply yet another piece of clothing.

This might explain something about the way he dresses. Carelessly, in clothes that are worn and comfortable, layering on more when it gets colder, totally irregardless of fashion or lack thereof.

For the bulk of the night he remains across the room, not so much sitting and staring as ... working with his hands, shaping bits of metal with pliers and a small hammer. Occasionally he flicks a glance over at Izzy and her date.

When she runs after him, he sits upright, instantly alert in case she'd decided to make a break for Mexico or something.

When she only kisses him, he watches for a second, then goes back to his work.

Soon enough Thornton is gone, and Izzy looks flushed and happy and ... perhaps a little guilty. Or at least, expectant of punishment. The Forseti, face hard and plain and rather untelling, does indeed beckon her over. What he says, though, isn't a rebuke.

"You should accept him as your mate," he says. "He makes you happy. The two of you seem to stabilize each other. And Fenris knows you could both use some stability."

[Izzy Montoya] It's a completely different Izzy with John. There's no denying it. While the core of who she is never changes, there's an ease there that doesn't exist with anyone else, no matter who she takes to her bed. It's still clear as she watches him go - evening cut short due to duty - he's as bound to it as she is, though neither would ever complain. Partnered in their twenties, rising through the ranks together - there is none that knows her more intimately that Detective John Thornton.

The little red box still in her hand, tapping lightly against her collarbone as she lifts the other to tuck her hair back behind her ear. Oddly enough, with her back turned, and possibly unaware of any windowed reflection... She's smiling. It's not her trademark smirk, it's not a schooled expression, it's not anything but relaxed, at ease, and real.

But soon enough [too soon] the moment passes, it slides away into it's more natural, more controlled, schooled expression, - tinged with the expectation of punishment. She was told not to make a romantic evening out of it - and yet... the undercurrents were there from beginning to end. She turns to head back into the restaurant, toward her back corner booth and the bag that holds her normal wardrobe.

It's then that Daniel [oh yeah. he's still there.] motions her over, and she takes a breath. She expects full lockdown, she expects physical punishment... she does NOT expect what comes out of his mouth as she slides into the seat opposite him, hands folded in her lap over that little red box.

In fact, she outright stares at him. Lips part to say something... then snap shut again when nothing comes out, and she can't quite form anything into coherent words. Finally, she manages to come up with something to say. "We've know each other a long time." A pause, and then, admittance. "I gave up everything for him once, and I came home for him as well - but he's never asked, and we've only recently..." He can fill in the blank. She shrugs.

"But he still loves someone else." A beat, and then a chuckle. "And the Jarl would be appalled at the thought, remember?"

[Daniel] "The Jarl would understand," he says, "if it brought the two of you some stability. Unless of course you began to feed off each other's hate and resentment. But I didn't see that tonight."

[Izzy Montoya] She snorts. "I don't think the Jarl understands anything about us at all. That would take actually listening to us."

She looks toward the door though, and then back. "I wouldn't turn him down - as I said before, he's the only I'd consider. But I doubt that he would ever ask."

[Daniel] "And only males are allowed to ask," Daniel replies, so flat that it might take her a moment to hear the sarcasm there. By then the lean Forseti is on his feet, gathering up his things.

"I may be gone for a few days, or longer," he adds. "My pack is traveling into the Umbra. If Fenris sees fit to call me home, you should report back to the Jarl and see what he would have of you."

[Izzy Montoya] She hears the sarcasm, the voice behind it- and lifts a brow, curiously. She's a perceptive creature, Izzy, and often sees more than people think they show. It's part of why she's such a damn good cop. Part of her stubbornness remains in the fact that she does not ask.

And he'll be gone a few days, or longer. She's been on her best behavior tonight (considering) so takes a chance... "If you and the pack are not here to" interrogate her "check in with, would it be possible to spend the duration living in my own apartment?"

[Daniel] "Don't push." She couldn't have possibly expected a different answer. "The rules were explained to you. Two weeks, and then we relax restrictions further if you have not given me reason to do otherwise."

A pause. "Congratulations on your naming-day, Kinswoman."

[Izzy Montoya] She didn't - but there is nothing wrong with trying. Her jaw flexes, but she doesn't say anything against it. And then there's the slight grind of her teeth too, before she opens her mouth to say something, then snaps it closed again.

He'll never understand. He's never asked. He'll never see her point.

So instead, she simply nods, and looks down at that little red box, running her fingers along the top of it, across the ribbon, and forcing her jaw to relax. She is, after all, still doing this - doing as she's commanded - for John.

"Thank you."

[Daniel] There's a hesitation; rare in a creature so alien and self-possessed as Broken Hammer. Then out of the bundle of strange and esoteric things in his hands he picks out one, setting it before her.

It's a small gourd. If she shakes it, loose seeds inside rattle gently.

"A small remembrance in honor of the day. Broken, it will heal you. If you are grievously injured, you will find yourself wholly restored. If you are on the verge of death, you will find yourself merely hurt. If you wish, you can use it to heal what damage remains to your face. But I would save it for when you really need it."

That's all he says. Without further ado, the Forseti turns and walks away.

[Izzy Montoya] She blinks, and looks up at him, studying him curiously for a moment, before she reaches to lift the gourd. She shakes it, lightly, and then runs her thumb over the outside of it, absently. She will not use it now, for the same reason she did not want to go to work unhealed to begin with. Too many questions, questions she, even now, has to answer in some way. Protecting Daniel has been the cruelest punishment of them all, especially with her co-workers, those who want nothing more than to see him dead by their own hands. Even so, a story once told must be maintained in order to retain it's believability.

She will save it.

She doesn't say anything, just watches as he walks away, and sighs. Soon enough, she stands as well, finding her way to that back table where she tucks her gifts into her bag, and heads to the restroom to change, before she once again spends her nightly incarceration chained to the back table by file folders and police reports.