He takes her answer to mean that she's not doing well at all--rightfully so, if the way she downs her scotch is any indication. The sip Rip takes of his own is much slower, allowing him a moment to consider Amy over the edge of his glass. He can guess at so much of what she might be feeling: the loss of family, of home, of anything resembling a rational and sane world. Still, they are assumptions in the end; he doesn't truly know Amy, just as she doesn't know him.

Certainly not so well as the man whose face Rip happens to share.

"It is one option, although must of us try to avoid it." Once he's lowered his glass again, Rip rests his arms against the counter, leaning forward into them. "With varying amounts of success to be sure--yet any measure of success should count as a victory in a place like this, I think."