"And we've established now that you don't know what we did, either," he says evenly. Tiredly, as his shoulders sag a little. Resignedly, because he can feel Charlie turning this into another fight and he's still wanting to go up and sleep the rest of this fucking disaster of a day off but someone's got to make sure everyone's fed because Charlie's still trying to survive on the ghosts of cigarettes and John's still working on what qualifies as edible.

"I'm not saying any of us have had it easy. I can't imagine what ten years under the King must have been like." Neither can John, really, though more from the opposite direction. He stretches his hands, and picks up the knife again; he probably will need to eat tonight. "I'm just... we've..."

He finally looks up, but it's just to give John a bit of a helpless glance.