He thought that in a normal situation would be to tell George that she wasn't alone. But it would only work if George was a normal girl, not a dead one.
There weren't any pre-fabricated responses that were acceptable for this situation. He couldn't even vaguely manipulate one of the things stuck in his head to fit.
"Death sucks." He repeated and sat down beside her. "Your job sucks. And you have a serial killer as your best friend. It's certainly not the usual life."
Dexter tried to smile and finished off his beer. He was pretty sure that he'd never be able to out drink her, considering her metabolism, and the fact that she wouldn't die from whatever would likely kill him very quickly. But he decided to join her in her vodka anyway. He took the bottle, took a swig, and handed it back.