Ah, the penalties of being buzzed - it leads to poor word choice. Tom begins to frown: if he could tell her what he'd really been doing that night, how much work he put into it....Not as much work as his jobs with the Protectors, though, those heights he can never reach again....

The incipient frown slides away as Tom goes back to careless and confident.

"Frostbite, at the feckin' least." He shrugs. "And going for a run," he pauses to remember how she said it, "in the middle of the night on an offroad out of town when there's shit around for ten miles - feck, yeah, I'd say that's excessive by most standards."