"Can we skip the fuss and go straight into relieved drinking? I may have a head start." He doesn't look up, does not want to look up. He was tired and he was oddly hollow but Jack was warm and alive and upset with him and there was a way to make it better, but he couldn't recall. All he could do was hold onto Jack and try not to list too far to one side.

He truly had far too much brandy in that coffee and too little in his stomach to start. His blessedly intact stomach. Perhaps it is the twisting sourness of bile and copper he wanted to forget, or the pain, or the blankness of the intervening days. He did not want to think of that and as such focused instead on the arms around him, the sounds of the house, and Jack's solid shoulder under his hear. The beat of his heart.

"Mocha and Nodo- are they well?"