He could feel it like a migraine, a sick pulse in his temples: Jack, Tosh, Jack, Tosh.
Even locked in a bloody, post-shooting screaming match with Owen, Gwen in-between them acting the part of the frantic baby-sitter, he couldn't think of anything else.
When they got back, he wanted to kiss Jack like he was drowning and then punch him in the fucking face for doing this. His feelings toward Toshiko were less violent; he wanted to kiss the ugly scab running across her palm, then make her a cup of tea and tell her it was fine, they figured it out, shhhh everything would be okay and now they knew how it worked, after all.
He settled for quietly fading back into the kitchen and making Tosh heavily sweetened tea for shock, and Jack a cup of instant decaf coffee, found in the moldering back of the cupboard even he could not be tempted to clean.