Tim clinks their glasses together, because it seems the thing he can do right now. But what he wants to do is to hold Martin. To assure him he's not alone, that people want to help him. That things will muddle through; they always do. It's a hard thing to assure, he knows.

Look at him. He knows most of all that things don't always muddle through.

"Christ," Tim says, and then sucks on the back of his teeth a moment, trying to think of a way to even explain it. "Miserable. We thought we were ready for it, but we...we really weren't. And you stepped in to everything and it just--it fell apart. You couldn't tell the difference about everything. Anything."

He's quiet a moment, thoughtful. "But by the end, it all...got very clear. Jon was part of that. I don't know if that was because of The Eye or something else, but right there at the end, it was the two of us, and Grimaldi--or Orsinov, whatever they were calling themself. And I had the trigger for the plastics..."

Tim looks down at his right hand, at the thumb and forefinger that are marked with the antlers. He shifts his glass to his left, and holds up his hand for Martin to see, and just sort of breathes a laugh. It isn't funny at all.

"I'm never going to escape that bloody clown."