Like Jay, he needs...a minute. He just needs a minute to process it. To not be on his toes, thinking about the best way to go about a conversation with that many-headed hydra of a miniature event with doctors out to make his life hell. To not be constantly evaluating, calculating, trying to put together the best sentence possible that will net him what he wants.

(When did he stop being that, for Jay? When did he stop doing the same?)

(Hell if he can remember.)

When Jay finally speaks, Tim needs another minute to fully comprehend what it is he's saying.

For the second time in...god, what has it been? Days?

For the second time in just as many days, Tim laughs.

It's an exhausted, almost hysterical sound - cracked around the edges, flaking and fragmenting, saturated in his disbelief and profound, unyielding weariness.

"...yeah," he says, once he catches his breath. "Yeah. Okay."

Let's watch us a goddamn movie.