Words.

Right.

Words are something he always has. Words are the sea in which he swims, the air he breathes, the one thing he can always grasp when everything around him is splintering into tiny little pieces of shrapnel. Words are what he uses to keep his sanity in check when Steve starts doing things like throwing suspects in shark cages.

...Although, to be fair, he had also had a fairly sincere conversation with Danny that same day, so who knows?

Anyway, this is beside the point. The point is that Jess has said that she has no words, so it's up to Danny to step up and do what he does best -- talk -- but he's kind of finding it a little difficult, too.

"A-hrm," he says, instead, clearing his throat, like he thinks that will help. It doesn't, but he shifts to his other foot, holds up his hands so they frame his face, fingers spread, and move them forward, twin shark fins slicing through air, like by delineating lines, he can define just what exactly is going on, here.

It doesn't really work, but that's never stopped him trying.

"So, the bar just gave me a beer. That's clear enough. I, ah..."

Turning, he squints at her. "I can't say I really know what to do with that. I guess, logically, I would drink it, right?"