[Hank isn’t buying it. But he’d rather not get into another round of their usual, with Hank eventually snapping and upsetting Connor.

So: patience. He can do that.

Hopefully.

The apartment itself feels like a jenga tower, though. Every bit of wayward frosting seems like a game piece plucked haphazardly. Ominous.]

How ‘bout you go wash up, Connor? [It’d get him away from the mess, at least.] And I can shove this lasagna in my face, then...

[Another uncertain glance toward the frosting on the walls.]

We could get out of here for a bit.

[Would that help? Escaping the mess?]