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Watson's tone is gentle and he wants to try and take it to heart that he's not being judged but more and more as he talks to a wider variety of people he feels a bit like they're doing so, just privately, and trying not to actually hurt his feelings over not being on the same wavelength as 99% of the boat at large. He's trying to convince himself that this man wouldn't do that, but he just doesn't know Watson. All he has to go on is one conversation, and an encounter in a memory that had thrown the man so far out of his depth that he was in the same position that Wayne was in now, however briefly.

"Both," he admits. "I'm trying to take notes on things that I hear when I'm around people so I know what I should or shouldn't say." As he mentions it, he pulls from the pocket of his sweater a composition notebook that's full of cramped writing, diagrams, sketches. One page has drawings in two different styles of the Wayne life cycle as opposed to a human's, another a very simplified drawing of human gestation. Someone had done a decent job of giving him a very quick biology lesson.

"Like I said, it's just a crash course and I wanna gain some context."

He leans over to glance at the notes Wayne's taken, and hastily hides a smile behind his hand. There's something so earnest about it; it's hard to not like it.

"I'll be perfectly honest," Watson says. "We have such a broad variety of people, from different worlds and cultures and times, and individuals within those cultures and times, there may not be a universal rule for what is and is not appropriate. People here are far more casual than I'm used to, though I think I've mostly become accustomed to it by this point." He clucks his tongue. "I see someone's tried to illustrate the reproductive process for you. Not a bad job, all considered. Here."

He takes his book back, in order to flip to an appropriately reproductive diagram, and hands it back. "I hope you're not inclined to be squeamish about this sort of thing. I fear this won't be a good book for you if you are. It is, however, very comprehensive."

It's disheartening to know that he can't just one-size-fits-all learn a pattern of behavior that would keep him from stepping on anyone's toes, but it does track with what he's experienced so far. He can't behave with Security the same way he does with Klaus, Ava likely wouldn't tolerate the same sort of dialogue that he has with Helena for very long. They're all incredibly unique, from different cultural frameworks. The only thing that's really all that different between them versus between him and them, is base biology. The problem is that his base biology is so far from the norm that it feels all that much more stark in comparison.

At least Watson knows what he's trying to get at, and directs him accordingly.

"I'm not, really," he starts, though he pauses briefly. "Not about this stuff, anyway."

He's still standing with the book in hand, scanning over the rather dense text. It's an incredible resource, and Watson will have to excuse him moving to take a seat to start trying to take notes like a student trying to retain information for a test. What he's missing is slang and euphemism, but he can at least correlate a good amount to the things that Gil had taught him, with a page dedicated to expanding upon the original notes.

He looks back up after he's crammed a page with writing and simplified diagrams. "Is uh...is there anything you want in exchange? Like, I know you invited me but I don't wanna overstay my welcome or anything."

Watson shakes his head.

"My dear sir," he says, "I am a doctor. I am a healer and a surgeon and this rather is the sort of thing I do, and there isn't currency I could charge for my services if I wanted to. I offer help, Mr. Wayne, because you seem to need it. I want nothing in return. Frankly," he adds, with a sort of sigh, "this sort of conversation is far more pleasant than some of the other things I get called on to do for people here, especially if it can make your life here easier in some way."

Wayne is still getting used to people referring to him as anything besides his name. He's never had a title in his life. This man is terribly formal, but not necessarily in a bad way. He'll live.

He sits back up and listens, a subtle tilt of the head accompanying a frown at the admission. "What do you usually deal with?" He's heard stories by now but having an expert's point of view seems like a good idea too.

"Various injuries, of various severity," he says. "Cuts, slashes. Broken bones. One amputation. For all that death is impermanent here... well, I think most people prefer a round of stitches than bleeding out. Infection does not seem to be a serious concern here, which I don't understand but... well, I take precautions anyway."

Watson shakes his head. "Still, the infirmary is well-stocked. And there are those here who having healing magic. Not the sort of thing we have where I am from, you know, but apparently it's deucedly useful."

For all that he knows that humans are thin-skinned and kind of delicate, it's still a little alarming that having to take that into consideration. Given what he's seen over the last few weeks though, he gets it.

"Hopefully you'll be relieved to know I can take care of myself pretty well as long as I have a food supply around. I've never broken a bone in my life." Leaving out the repeated deaths, the carapace fracturing, the leaking and the burning, he likes to think he's got a pretty good track record when it comes to recovery.

"I dearly hope you manage to keep that record going," Watson says, honestly. "Hell, my medical degree didn't involve half the things I've seen on this ship. I'm trying to make do, and learn as I go."

If, god forbid, something happens to Wayne, Watson hopes he at least remains conscious enough to offer advice like "no, that's supposed to be like that, don't touch it."

"I don't mean to go on about the ways we're different," he says. "It seems clear to me that we have more in common in the important ways. And as terrible as this place can be at times, we do have a sort of community forming, which you should be welcome to be part of."

"People are always coming up with new and creative ways to die I guess." It might be humorous, if it weren't so bleak.

At the assertion that Watson hadn't meant to get so caught up in the minutiae, Wayne just shakes his head. "It's important, right? If I might end up having to come see you for help when I don't have the energy to help myself then you gotta know what you're working with. I'll try and work something up but there's no guarantee I'm gonna be a good source. My thing's more arts than sciences." He offers a small smile as he continues, "I like it here for the most part. Sure I miss Waynehouse and my crew and my family, but there's no sense in dwelling on the bad stuff when there's just as much to find good in. I'm making friends here and that's like, the coolest part. And I'm getting to see a whole new set of cultures and people and yeah, maybe I'm kinda struggling with some of it, but it's not all bad."

"I think you're more than allowed to be struggling with things here," Watson says. "If I seem to not be... I've been here more than a year, at this point. I have seen any number of things that I would have called impossible, and I am still sometimes caught off guard, and while I did not have a great deal in my life in the time and place I left it, there are nonetheless people I will never see again. I am... I am attempting to make a life here."

And then, because he can't help himself, "So, you're an artist? Might I ask in what way?"

It helps when someone goes out of their way to sort of cushion how rough all of this can actually be. He's right to struggle a little given the circumstances, even while he's trying to make the best of it. He's not perfectly adaptable and that's not a bad thing.

"Maybe some people don't think we can go home but like...I wanna think maybe one day we can, and then when that happens, I kind of- I wanna take some people home with me, if they'd be happy not going back to their own places. I wanna offer my world and try and make them feel welcome." Mostly Pratt if he's being honest. Maybe it would give him the chance to, if not heal, at least find some kind of peace.

He perks up a bit and fishes briefly around himself to find his phone. He keeps hoping eventually he'll figure out how to make it record. For now all he's been able to do is find a really simple metronome kit that he plugs into it to help him keep time. "Music! It's what's been helping me keep it together, to be honest."

"That's deeply kind of you," Watson says. "The places you're from did seem a very lovely place to settle down, even for someone for whom it was strange. Strange is only unfamiliar, after all."

He hesitates. He hates being the bearer of bad news, in this, to someone who is new. "Myself, I'm in the camp that thinks there is no going home. I am -- well, I'm something of an artist myself, a writer. And as it happens, I received a whole collection of books I have not yet written, and will not for decades, some of them. Damned awkward. I don't know how that works, if I were to go back to where I left."

While it's not the first time that he's had the news broken to him, he's been obstinate in his refusal to believe that this would just be it. He's come back from death again and again and again, he's gone to space and made it back home. He doesn't want to believe that this is just it.

At least he can make an effort not to dwell and focus instead on the second part. "Oh wild...do you think I'd be able to find the finished versions of the stuff I was working on? Helena writes too but I haven't gotten to ask her about it yet. Vance is learning how to play his guitar. I don't think I'm very good at teaching him yet."

Sometimes people believe things for their own sanity. Watson won't fight him on it. It isn't worth it, and there's nothing to be gained.

"We don't have much of a music library," he says, "but things do appear from time to time. It's possible. If it does, I don't suppose you'd be willing to share? Or perhaps you might like to arrange a concert of some sort."

"Definitely man, if anything appears I'll let you know. I thought about doing the concert thing, but right now it's just me on guitar and Nobunaga on drums and even then he's got other stuff on his plate. I'm not a vocalist, that was Somsnosa's gig and, y'know. She's not here." A slightly awkward shrug of the shoulder for that. He's trying to do better about not dwelling on not having the rest of his crew about, but he still likes talking about them, and that makes it kind of unavoidable sometimes.

He stands finally, with his notebook on top of the borrowed volume, and holds them both carefully in one arm. "If I'm ever in the theater, you should come hang out. I'll play you something," he offers, "especially since you're letting me use this. It means a lot that you would."

Watson shakes his head. "We have to take care of each other, around here. It's a trifle, and I'm glad to help. You can send me questions any time, and I'll be glad to clarify."

He offers his hand to shake.

The movement is becoming, if not more natural to him, easier to respond to without an awkward pause. He gives Watson's hand an easy squeeze in response.

"I appreciate you, man. I'll hit you up when I can get my music stuff together."

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