Jack disappears from view behind the bathysphere, and a few seconds later Sinclair hears the coughing and immediately gets to his feet. He rushes back to where Jack is knelt, spitting up gasoline onto the tile floor.

"Jesus, son," he says, patting Jack's back. It is really hard not to laugh right now, and it's impossible to force down the amused grin on his face. "Wasn't there a better way to do that?"