"Yeah, no, seems to be mine now," he says, smirking at him as he runs his hands down it, imagining for a moment how that would feel along Vasquez's chest and not his own.

He may not be ready to admit it, and in his mind he never will be, but he's glad for these moments still. He's been positive after the battle they'd never happen again. One way or another.

His eyes stay closed for a long moment, feeling it hit his system. Feeling it spread as he lifts the bottle and takes one more, smaller, drink. Just enough to take the edge off how tight he feels wound, how empty his veins feel. How sober the world is. That's the hardest part for him.

"Okay then. Sure. Lead on," he says, holding tight to the bottle and shifting to try and take the lit smoke from Vasquez.