MCA #0, Tuesday morning

Steve had been stewing since Sunday night when he'd said goodbye to his father with an awkward hug and an insincere smile. As farewells went, it was decidedly better than the sound of a weapon being fired over a staticy satellite phone connection, but it reminded him that for all that his drug-assisted (thanks for nothing, Wo Fat, seriously, nothing) dreaming, he and his father hadn't known how to talk to each other for decades.

He came back from his morning run and swim with donuts and apology coffee for Danny. Not that he'd call it apology coffee, but he recognized he probably hadn't been the easiest person to room with the last few days.

"Danno?" he called, coming in through the lanai. "You up?"

It was practically seven. Shouldn't everyone be awake by now?