He's not sure how he feels about tea, having mostly drunk coffee in the desert, but at her confirmation he pours himself a cup in the delicate little cup in front of him.

It's different and his nose wrinkles up, but he doesn't hate it. He does reach for the little pot on the table of what he hopes is sugar, and dumps some into it.

"It was a double for me. Flynn's. The guy seemed to really hate me."