He nodded, continuing his little trip down memory lane and behind the desk, checking to make sure that the bathroom door was open. "I'm good, yeah. This is . . . just a little weird, is all. I mean," he didn't think he was a good enough actor to pull this off for much longer, "just the other day I was six feet under. It's all a little hard to digest." A little blood would probably help that, he thought.
Then he began to wonder how much he could get out of Super Girl over there before she knew what was going on or someone else happened through. He was stronger than whatever that bracelet was doing for her, of that he had no doubt. Of course, he might've been overcompensating for the fact that he was really, really dead.
And where the hell had Fred gone? She'd have been the first person he would have guessed to pin the undead monster card on him, not Tinkerbell over there. "I'm sure," he echoed. "Only, I don't really think I'm gonna be around when he gets in -- or up; he was always one for sleeping in. I've got places to go." People to eat.
Not here. Why not?
"Wanna do me a favor?" Back at Cordy's desk, his fingertips trailed over the letter opener for a moment before picking up a blue ball-point. He scribbled down his cell phone number, or what had once been his cell phone number before they let him get himself killed, and then lifted the paper up for her to see. "When he comes around, give him this? Let him know I stopped by?"