[ It wasn't obvious, how much he'd started to relax against the couch, letting the flow of the conversation carry him, until the shattering of glass broke the conversation and his head snapped up, tension crackling through him like electricity through a live wire. ]

Just don't burn down the place.

[ That was for Nelson's benefit, though his eyes didn't leave Maskin's face, watching him speak. The slight frown furrowing his brow might have been faint concern, or maybe having to concentrate past the soft fog the medication cast over everything. Finally, he snorted, leaning back against the couch and tipping his head back against the couch, shutting his eyes. The years had faded it to little more than a thin, silvery line, but there was still a scar on his chin that cut through the stubble, and he lifted his good hand to rub at it with a finger as his mouth crooked into wry, tired smile. ]

Yeah, well. Hopefully a bestselling author has better luck convincing America's middle class to give a shit than -- [ My boss, he almost said, but choked on the words before they could even get out, swallowing reflexively before he fought it down. ]

Who knows? Maybe you can be the hero we needed all along.