He sat there, his hands closing around the bottle, just to have something firm still resting in them. Just because it was something that wasn't going anywhere, while everything else was spinning.

"Clearly," he said, and the firmness that had been in his voice a moment before had all but vanished, again, "it's not."

He swallowed, and shook his head, and tightened his grip on the glass until his knuckles were white.

"I don't expect you to be okay with what I am. I don't want you to be okay with what I am. If I was okay with what I am, I wouldn't..."

He wouldn't be just like always.

"... have told Rufus I wanted to come home. Here's home. I just... I gotta cement it, is all. Make sure I... made my point. Or... somethin'."