Whatever it was, it didn't need ice. Jack could tell that much, in his analytical mind. But that part was buried deep under the sudden slow build of ominous things, one after another, apron tossed to the floor and Eugene's shoulders stringing through with tension and Zevran . . .

He didn't want to even put thought to what Zevran was doing. He didn't want to anticipate something terrible, not when he could try to interpret it some way less frightening, less sinkingly familiar. He didn't want to give in to the dismay trying to tug at his expression out of shape when he could cant it closer to a smile, however much worry still remained in his brow and around his eyes.

". . . besides making dinner, you mean," he contributed, coming around to Eugene's side, between the two of them, freezer door too-carefully shut. Noiselessly shut. Only important sounds were worth making, when things turned south.