They lay there for a while after, neither of them in any particular hurry to be anywhere else.
The apartment held its afternoon quiet around them, the light through the window having shifted slightly from where it had been when they started, the mat warm beneath them from everything that had happened on it.
Grace was lying on her back with one arm across her stomach and the other above her head, looking at the ceiling with the specific expression of someone whose body had just been through several things and was still taking inventory.
"That was something," she said.
"Your back better?" he said.
She considered it. "Ask me in ten minutes," she said. "I can't feel much of anything right now."
He looked at her.
She looked at the ceiling.
Then she looked at him.
