[ He starts smiling the instant don't let him — comes out of Chris's mouth, and nothing that happens after that does a thing to dent it. There is a lot there he could respond to, but he'll begin by refilling the mug Chris hands him uncomplainingly: sweetly, even, the very obliging way he does it a vague form of menace when viewed from the angle of knowledge Chris has demonstrated several times that he has. And he hands it over with eye contact and faint deference that, acknowledging what Chris literally just said, could be anywhere on the spectrum from alarming to mocking. ]

You know, it's kind of nice to think someone's actually noticed me. Regardless of the context.

[ He leans back against the counter with his own mug, exactly as plain as Chris's, continuing on in the same tone as is apparently his habit. ]

The vault is probably mine. It's the kind of thing I'd like to have. The kind of traps I'd like to set. And, the kinds of stuff I'd keep in a vault. I'm sorry to say I think I have a sentimental streak. Does that sound right, Chris?