Mike lips his lips, not because he doesn't know what to say but because he's trying to say it. It's not that he was comparing himself to Billy, or wanting his sympathy. One-upping the man's tragic night. Just trying to relate, trying to tell Billy he's not alone. Sometimes when he tries to express himself, though, he hits a brick wall. Can't really find the right words to say.

Information, he can get. He can whittle. He can charm and manipulate if he really wants, but heart to hearts were hard.

He's still holding Billy, strangely intimate, strangely welcoming, the shower running.

"I understand. If I could have gotten anyone else, I wouldn't have." There's a truth to that, too, and Mike is still holding his shoulders. Still trying to word it. To make Billy feel safe.

"For what it's worth, I'm sorry. We won't call you in until it's absolutely necessary if it's that bloody. But, Billy..."

No. He can drop that. Ask again later.

"Never mind. Here." And Mike is already carefully undoing the other's shirt.