Will looks up at at him. Recognized the voice as soon as it began to speak, but... he doesn't always trust his sense, tries to get them to corroborate as best he can. It's time that's still giving him trouble. Still, the same he's looking for is also there and so Will pushes himself out of his lazy slouch, sitting forward in order to turn and face John better.

Will hasn't shaved once since he got here and is looking very scruffy around the face, his hair is also a sweaty mess. It's the kind of thing Will sort of needs a bit of prompting to care about, in all honesty. Since the dogs certainly don't care (and he has a habit of losing track of time...) There is no particular expression on Will's face at the moment, just the same blank relaxation he'd been staring at the river with, but his eyes flicker over John's posture thoroughly. Tense. Awkward. One good shoulder. It all gets filed away.

"It's difficult to fault someone for a strong opinion on helping others," he decides. Neither sheepish nor apologetic himself. He turns to rifle through his cooler, pulling out a can of American beer and holding it out.

"Do you like to fish?"