Jack watches as Anne walks towards the kitchen, his train of thought stalling on the idea of her being friends with Mad Sweeney. He'd like a word with Sweeney about what the hell he thinks friendship is, and why it shouldn't involve punching women in the face.

A year ago, he might have decided that he should give Anne her space and approach this topic another time, but now he's not so sure. His old approach didn't work for Anne, had ended up hurting her in ways that he didn't foresee. There's a tension in his chest that represents his renewed uncertainty when it comes to what's best for her, and in that moment he wonders what Max would have had to say about this. What would she do, here?

Jack pushes himself up from his chair and follows her to the kitchen. This doesn't feel right, but maybe helping Anne means that he's going to have to try some things that don't follow with what he might usually do. Shoulders hunched forward, he settles himself next to her. She's facing away, looking down at the sink, and he reaches out, his hand hovering behind her back for a moment before taking another tack instead. Gently, he brushes Anne's hair aside and tucks it behind her ear.