[Well. Fuck. Didn't that just paint a whole new light on why a seven year old was cussing enough to earn himself bruised knuckles.

Shaking his head, he dropped his fork into his mostly empty bowl and slumped back in his chair.]

Not a session, Doc. You shrink my head all you like while I'm paying you, but I called you to give that little one it's best chance at not dying. So...what's the prognosis?

[It no doubt said a whole lot about his childhood that he didn't want to talk about it outside of very strict perimeters.

Reaching forward, he lightly touched the edge of the shoe box, sitting up straighter so he could peer into it. The bird was still upright, but it was settled down. If it had more feathers, they would have been just a puff, but as it was, they were still kinda scraggily looking.

A good match for the man he'd given them to.]

She looks pretty comfortable. You can take the heating pad, if you need it. I've got more and it's not like I'm in this safehouse often.