Well enough. A very English answer if ever there were one, John thinks to himself, and reaches for the tea she pours for him once it's set out.

Yes, small talk about his death. Death together in the arms of her lover, a man who he had technically slept with himself. A fact which she now knows herself. Does she know that John has feelings for him, he wonders? Does Jim himself know? He'd like to think he isn't quite so obvious as that, but who knows at this point.

"I am well enough," he counters, using her own words right back at her. He had died, and then been thrust back into the city as if it had never happened. No support system so to speak, and now he's wondering whether he'll ever be able to associate himself with two of the closest friends he's made here again. So yes, well enough.

"The gods saw to it that we were taken care of," he reassures her. Which hardly says anything, but again -- small talk.