Numbers maintains his bewildered, mask-like gaze. The corners of his mouth twitch slightly downward, as if to scowl, but his facial muscles seem to be unable to hold the expression for long. He doesn't even know if he can verbalize what happened--stringing together the words in a cohesive way seems like a momentous, impossible task.

T-E-D-D-Y? Oh. Teddy. His brain struggles to remember. Wrench's wife. No. Wrench doesn't have a wife. Not really. Wrench wouldn't do that. Wouldn't marry. Unless something changed in Numbers' absence. Numbers' ten year absence. Christ, wouldn't that be funny? If, after Numbers died, Wrench settled down and became a househusband without telling him.

His thoughts are scattered and unfocused, making errant connections and going off on irrelevant tangents. When he's able to focus on Wrench again, he realizes that he's been just standing there silently for a solid minute. Like an idiot. Was anyone else watching this exchange? Did Wrench know what he was thinking?

He doesn't know how to respond. He just nods, even though Wrench didn't ask him a question. An agreement to talk. He starts to stagger forward, as if having some sort of destination in mind, before nearly tripping over his own feet. He instinctively reaches out to steady himself against Wrench, gripping the man's arm tightly. Numbers' breathing is uneven and haggard, which is even more apparent as he presses himself against Wrench for support.

Maybe it's better for Wrench to lead the way.