"Would you continue to incessantly harass me about it."

"Yes. That's what I do."

"When it matters. You don't give up, but you don't just... keep going for no reason."

"I have a reason. You're in pain."

"It doesn't even hurt anymore!"

This is, admittedly, a lie. He keeps feeling phantom flutters across his skin, followed by whipcrack agony. But he's getting better at not flinching, and it's downright unfair that Harry should be too insane to shut up but still be able to read his face.

"You are such a bad liar."

"I'm a fantastic liar when everything doesn't hurt –"

Fuck it. He takes the pills.

"Thanks."

Harry starts getting dressed.

This is relatively normal behavior.

"Bye." He starts for the door.

"–where are you going."

"The TV said people were being kidnapped."

"And you want to do something about it."

"I'm almost seven feet tall and I have a baseball bat. And a handgun! If somebody tries to kidnap me they'll regret it."

"You're going to fight off alien invaders with a fucking Louisville slugger?"

He's navigated strategically in front of the door. It involved some scrabbling.

"Yeah! You're in the way, though."

"I am, yes."

If Harry didn't give in about the Tylenol, he's not giving in on this. Frankly David would expect this fight to happen even if Harry wasn't temporarily insane. The insanity just means he can't win.

Maybe there's another way.

"I'd love to help you fight the aliens. Do you think we should do some research first?"

"...research?"

"Of course! What if they're just big blobs of slime that you can't even hit with a baseball bat? Then you wouldn't even be helping."

"...but... people are getting taken away. But... yeah... finding out more... might be more efficient? In the long run?"

"You can watch the TV, I'll listen to the radio. Once we know more, we can go out to help."