When Anathema had suggested going for a drink, Chuck hadn't seen anything to do but agree. Of course, he hadn't mentioned that he'd almost certainly have wound up doing the same thing had he spent the evening on his own. Some days, it doesn't seem like there's anything better for him here, and he doesn't think he can entirely help it if his best friend being in a coma has his nerves more than a little shot. More than anything, he wants to find the son of a bitch who did that to Newt and make him pay for it. In the absence of being able to, and perhaps a bit to distract himself from how utterly useless it makes him, someone who once stood face to face with monsters and decimated them and now can't take a stand against just some guy, drinking seems like the best use of his time. Drinking with Anathema is just an improvement on that.

"I won't hold it against you," he says with a crooked grin, taking a long swig of his own drink. "Is starting unexpected world wars something that's happened before?"