He laughs, short and flat, and follows Krauser's example: bottom's up. It doesn't hit like alcohol, but he still winces after the hard swallow. "Mm--what did you do? Back home. Where they took you from?" 

As he asks, Bruce catches sight of a line forming at the entrance to the greenhouse. Brows furrow, knuckles brushing Krauser's upper arm to guide his attention. Just look at that--something's about to happen.