Honestly, he's not ready to touch wine or whiskey again after his 'birthday party' last week, and this seems as good as anything. Jon blinks and frowns at him, the sort of offended-cat expression he hasn't given to Tim since— since the very early days, probably. Defiantly, he takes a sip.

And immediately makes a face.

"God. I spent money on this." This was supposed to be better than whatever cheap stuff Gerry Keay seems insistent on handing him, and yet. Still— Tim has a drink, Tim is speaking to him, Tim is alive, the rest hardly matters.

He gives another halfhearted scrub at the lingering pink on his face, then inspects his drink, transparently tense. "If— if you have questions, we can start there."