After a brief pause -- the time it takes to wonder if this is a huge mistake, and then dismiss that as emotion rather than logic -- she follows him in.

Jack is there, fast asleep, tossed around a bit but still curled around his wrench. He hasn't eaten the couch but he has drooled on it a bit. Maybe that's a preliminary warning sign.

He lies there like a living, breathing accusation.

Tenenbaum's glance is subtly pained, and goes on for maybe a few seconds too long. Then she gathers herself. Her face returns to normal.

Once they've made it to the study, she says quietly, her voice as dry as Rapture isn't: "You have given him a bath at last. My congratulations."