Sinclair sees the sign for the bathysphere just seconds after Jack does, and he sighs, laughing. "We made it, son! Nice work."

And a few yards later, Sinclair plops himself down on the coated leather seating, relaxing back. He's sure he's got blisters at this point, walking around in half-soaked socks and shoes that certainly were not made for walking any kind of distance. That bath is calling to him.

But not as much as it's calling to Jack. Remember how the mattress spoke gently to Sinclair? Luring him to its soft, springy comfort? This bath is screaming at Jack. Screaming desperately.

"I can get something cooking while you get cleaned up, if you want," he offers. Oh so generously.