"I know what you mean, but..." Hold that thought, mister.

Jack approaches the bench, but not to sit--he reaches for the snow-dusted bushes behind the bench, spreading the thick cluster of bare branches to reveal something small and black hidden within: a listening device.

"This is one of those situations where reality doesn't quite live up to a person's ideals," he explains ruefully, still calm, even borderline-flippant for the grave situation he's peeling back the layers to expose. But again, Sam gets a hopeful look. Maybe now he'll get it?