"Fuck, York." He pushes his empty glass towards her -- he's definitely going to need a refill if she wants to get the rest of this out of him -- and looks around the rest of the bar. They've been here a month and a half, and he's still not really used to there being noise everywhere he turns, to walking down streets full of organic beings and not lifeless drones.

"Getting here was enough of a shock," he says, still not looking at her. "You think I wanted to think about home, too? About how I'd been wrong about-- everything?"