He did actually grimace at the declaration that it was the best part, shaking his head and taking a steadying breath so as not to let memory put him off what he could eat, and not about to bring Charles' down -or make him feel guilty- by explaining that being force-fed bits of himself for decades was enough to ensure that meat was definitely not the best part in his opinion.

The question that followed, however had him biting back the initial acerbic response again, managing to temper it a little as he responded: "What's to enjoy, Charles? Everything hurts, everything could actually kill us, and we aren't going to be able to help anyone as we usually do until this is resolved." Another steadying breath, emotions simmering up despite his trying to keep them at bay, spreading both hands flat against the top of the desk to keep himself from grinding his knuckles together "I need to be able to help people, Charles, this agency, our agency gave me a purpose when I needed it most. It's what I do." It was all he knew how to do, and he was feeling dangerously adrift without it.