"You know what, ice is for rubes, thank you," Matt says with a fully unguarded laugh. "You have no idea how much shit I've gotten about how I ruin good liquor by adding water to it."

The drink he easily accepts, and the fact that he can see it coming really doesn't have much bearing in the moment—Martha's thoughtful, clearly, in addition to knowing the proper way to drink a glass of scotch. If he were keeping score, she'd definitely be at the top of the leader board, and they've barely gotten started.

"Is it wrong to be relieved that you're actually from London and not some random planet that happens to have the same sort of accent?" he asks, and takes a small sip.