Oh, is that why I can't feel my fingers? [ He's joking. He can feel them just fine but he's gonna take a crack at Eames if he can, mouth twisting as he does. ] Didn't realize you specialized in dig teams. Is that a side gig?

[ It's comforting to have the banter. It's not the same as his sixteenth birthday from hell that he just went to school the next day ever. In his life, outside of here, it's always: if you can walk then you've got to be able to run. No in-between.

Worst part is, he already had time. Years of it. It dulled it a little, sure. Then Bob was here and--- He doesn't realize he stopped a second, distracted, until he clears his throat and hangs up his heavier coat after he's out of it. He reaches up to rub at his red nose with a sleeve, looking very much his age instead of the way that he normally carries himself. ]

Are we making something?

[ It's kind of a ritual with them. Wholly different than the kind of ones he's used to. In the Connor household it's all cleaning weapons and research. Keeping heads low and eyes up. It's funny to only have to worry about whether or not he messes up a measurement on something or accidentally burns something. A lot easier to clean up flour rather than---well. ]