He has to admit he's wished for a little numbness now and again himself. But his would be, well, self-inflicted. He can only presume Alex's isn't. It wasn't when Dennett did it to him.

"Thank me when I do something to make up for, well...everything." No small order, there. This, though, doesn't count.

"Yes." And no, it's probably not funny at all, but they need a laugh, even a faltering, lame one, right about now. "What's funnier is..." he reaches into his pocket, where he's dutifully gathered the tags from the shirt and pants and shoes he'd taken. Alex would be happy to know he stole only workday clothes, nothing flashy or pricy.