The sound of the shower brings a comfort entirely different from the one he denied himself by not joining her. He can hear it from the living room, white noise that waxes and wanes with the turn of her body. Putting on a record, he wonders if she can hear Gordon Lightfoot's voice under the spray, or if only the most heartfelt plucks of guitar strings break through.

In the study, Hap considers the liquor bottle in hand. He won't have any more after tonight. He may not have any more tonight. And it's not cheap. He's the one who established the tradition of buying it every year, initially an act of gratitude for Leon's unconventional understanding and guidance. Over time they became equals and it was more or less a nod to the past, a reminder of how far they'd come. Hap thought that's what it was, anyway.

Joan likes whiskey. He can't remember if she told him that or he's merely assuming but there's no doubt in his mind. Hap grabs her a glass from the kitchen and sets it down beside his on the living room coffee table, along with the scotch. As the water runs and a new song starts up, he sits, removes his glasses, and runs his hands slowly over his face. This is risky. He just has to hope that there's enough here to lose that Joan won't go and deliberately ruin it.

He gets up shortly after the shower goes quiet, meeting her in the corridor. He nods to her request; she's not pressing her luck whatsoever.

"Come on." Hap takes her to his room, where he pulls out a nondescript grey t-shirt and a pair of black sweat shorts.