He's not actually eating or drinking the ice that's slowly making his fingers aware of the cold. He's not actually going to shift, and give the world the pleasure of the annoyance at the shirt. He's going to stare out at the milling people, and he's going to silently recite the top twenty scenarios that were more annoying, painful, dirty, and disgusting above this.

Maybe thirty. Or forty. Because this is peanuts compared some of the crap and hell he's been put through.

It is. Annoying, but not life threatening. Demanding his patience, even when what it has is his annoyance. Waves. People. Scenario's. Faintly cold fingers, holding an inert object he has no intention of eating. Maybe it had been something other than cotton candy. Maybe if he was holding it for any other reason than someone telling him to go be a billboard for the ice shack basically.

"Are you a cop?"

There's a confused look out one side, where there's no one, and down to where there's a little girl in a beach dress.

Even while the words are kicking across his brain with a kind of disgust that's taking no prisoners. Because he's nothing like a cop. Even if he said those words into the phone. Nothing like the man standing next to his side. He's a SEAL. There's nothing else on the planet he's ever wanted to be, or would want to change to being. "No."

"Well," She shifted on her feet, swaying a little, like gravity was just an option for her. "You look like a cop."

No, he didn't. He looked nothing like those guys. The guy standing next to him, all slacks and a tie. In Hawaii. And no he didn't need this distraction of this little person suddenly taking place in his op. Which meant the only course of action was getting rid of her. Fast as possible. Leaning down and holding out his neglected shave ice.

"Do you like cotton candy?" Please. Take it. Save him. For it. And her. "Go find your mom."