"Toast it is," John replies, gently scrubbing his fingers through Martin's hair once more before heading over to the kitchen. The kettle's already on low, so it doesn't take long to bring it back to a boil, and it times out well enough that he's able to steep some mint tea while the bread toasts. The Bishop initially observes the preparations with interest, but when it becomes clear that none of it involves cat food, he eventually wanders out to the living room to investigate whether Martin might be interested in dispensing some affection.

A few minutes later, John joins them, a plate of buttered toast in one hand and two mugs of tea precariously clutched in the other. He manages to set it all down without any spills, and then settles himself on the couch beside Martin, close enough to provide a shoulder to lean on, if Martin wants. "There we are," he says, rubbing Martin's back with one hand and lifting his tea with the other. "Get that down, and maybe we can try some medicine."