Logan instinctively bared his teeth at the waft of fear sweat that suddenly reached him, and he straightened his back slowly when he heard the chair clatter behind him. He was about to turn around when Jamie spoke to... well, to himself, and then to him. He turned slightly and looked over his shoulder at Jamie, not quite scowling. But the collective hungover expressions made him snort and shake his head. "That good, huh?" he asked rhetorically.
"Sheesh, I've forgotten what hangovers feel like," he added with a sigh and a slight twist of his smirky mouth. "I'll try, bub, but there ain't no being quiet on a marble counter." He glanced at the pot and nodded. "Should be ready soon," he added, and then turned fully around to lean back against the counter and wrap one arm over his chest while he sipped his coffee with his free hand. "But whatcha need is hair of the dog, bub. Shot and a beer." Yes, he was a little amused." A few moments later, he had grown more serious, sensing the skittishness still in the air. He let out one of those sighs that sounded like a groan.
"Listen, bub, I never got around to... apologizing in person. Whenever I've seen you, we've been in the field, or in some situation or another. Ain't no excuse, but I never got around to looking you up, and that ain't right. I understand the... they were dupes of a dupe, or sum'thin', but that still don't make it right." He paused, thinking he was really crap at this, but at least he was trying. "I ain't mind controlled any more, and I ain't the enemy. That's all I'm sayin'."