There's some good smells coming from inside, and Jim half wishes he had any appetite at all. The door bumps open gracelessly, and there's a familiar face there. Jim lets himself exhale, lets a little of the tension in his shoulders slither away. Good. At least Bones still exists.

He lifts the bottle, waggling it. "Came for a drink," he says with brittle cheerfulness. "Would've called ahead first, but I figured there was an even chance of getting bullshit in return, so can I come in?"

Smile, smile.