He'd pulled his hand away reflexively when he'd determined what it was, but the eye was still sitting there next to his trousers, looking vaguely upward. She still had one hand over her eye — or, he supposed, a hole where her eye would have been, had it not been on the deck. And she was asking him to give it back. Two horrified thoughts occurred to him in rapid succession: first, that she wanted him to touch her eye, on purpose; second, that if she was asking for it back that meant she was intending to do something with it. But what? She couldn't just shove it back in there. Alfred wasn't an anatomy expert or anything, but he knew there were connections there that were fairly essential for the whole seeing things aspect of having eyes.

He was too flabbergasted by the entire situation to argue with her, however, so he merely picked it up — smooth and hard and a little slimy, but not nearly as much as he thought it should have been — and held it out to her, wordlessly.