Eventually he does settle to the involved process of reassembling the engine. With every gear and piston that slots neatly back into place, a little tension ebbs from his stance. This is as close as he ever comes to being at peace; hands moving with unhesitating precision, the components scattered over the workbench coming back together into an intricate whole under his touch. In a startlingly short space of time what had been an apparently chaotic jumble of cogs and levers is becoming recognizable as the engine it started out as.

"I guess that makes sense," he concedes, lifting a bolt and inspecting it for a moment before screwing it into place. He hadn't ever really thought about it from that point of view before, but now she comes to mention it- yeah, that's a whole new level of uncomfortable and disturbing. And seriously, what kind of life has she had that she thinks about things like this?

"Huh." He pauses and gives her a long, speculative sort of look. "...I can't picture you as a blonde. That's weird."