"You bastard," he tries to snarl but there's no real punch in it at all. "You're perfectly healthy, you could have helped others, or won yourself. Now you'll just die pointlessly."

Like him. He should have been able to help Cecil, help anyone, and instead he's practically just a torso in a slowly filling fishbowl and this prodigious moron has to come in and stay with him when he could have been so much more useful elsewhere.

And Albert can't fathom how grateful he is he doesn't have to die slowly and alone. Guilty, surely, but grateful all the same.

He grabs Jet's hand, pulling him away from the debris and closer so he can rest his forehead against the palm. "You complete dope."