He doesn't return the same casual amusement or conversation. It still bothers him, the way she can compartmentalize, the way he can't tell how seriously she takes anything; whether it's a mask, a ruse, or it just doesn't matter to her.

He keeps the phone pressed to his ear, but he glances down at his feet, listening to the hum of cars driving in on the decks below him. So he isn't crazy. Or, if he is, he's at least not alone. He is relieved she's OK, and that what they experienced wasn't just in his head, but it leaves the awkward business of what to do now.

"Yeah," he answers after a long pause, lifting his head so his voice is clear. "So I guess they put you through the same thing? I don't suppose you'd be willing to give me your crib notes?"