The duct tape mention makes his ghost of a smile start to look like the real deal. Duct tape is something they've been very, very careful not to let David around anymore. Not after that time he got his hands on some when he was younger and thought it'd be a great idea to duct tape his door shut. He'd had to climb in through their son's window.

Alex hasn't thought about that in a long, long time.

With the power off in his leg, he doesn't get the usual feed from what's happening where - no updates popping up, just a kind of radio silence he actually finds relaxing because it's so rare in his new life. His chin dips down as she asks for the screwdriver, something whirring again that he can feel in the roots of his molars. They said he was built as quiet as possible but all they cared about was how he sounded moving to other people: they never warned him about what it was like in the inside.

"Here." Alex tucks the screwdriver in her hand, his armored fingers brushing against her skin. "How many?"

Clara treats this like troubleshooting the DVR, going by process of elimination instead of some elaborate scientific method with a lot of technobabble thrown in. Compared to the average maintenance shift, it's downright relaxing.