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"It's nicely-dressed people, correct?" Enough of that clerical teaching lingered that made him still wear red face masks at the beach... Or at least, tried to. A vague approximation of a leaky tap ensued, for amusement. ".... There's enough of those in the m... operating theatre." Classy, dark humor on a book date. Even then, he already had trouble explaining the whole 'we cover them with sheets!' thing to others, so why did he say that? Slip of the tongue.

"I-I'm sorry, it's... well, they did tell me the lesser people know about it, the better. For the sake of normalcy, or something." Funny, a favour not related to the medical or clerical field, yet enough of a secret. "It's not really a lot, just notes and information about things." Not like they would know if he said any more, today was a day he made sure that there were no more bugs or surprises he might accidentally be carrying.

The folder, heavy with pictures, and not a single one did he ever want to meet anyway. "A reminder of the next meeting, in the future? It could be used that way." Adding a picture of her to the folder seemed less and less of a good thing to do now. "... Is anyone else you know carrying that with them now?" So, so confused. Slap him over the head and make him hold his tongue, then laugh again at his ignorance.

Okay, so maybe she was not too keen on the whole 'embarrassing self in front of customers and co-workers' thing. All the better. "Okay then, let's go."

Ah. Forgotten already? That. Not like he has not run into that before, eh? "... I know." Curt, probably he was not the most comfortable with it. And meanwhile the laughter continues at his expense. If it was cartoonish enough, perhaps a popping vein somewhere in that empty head of his.

"Reports... more reports? On weird things and uh, not-things. One of those. I don't know.... Oh! No, no, that's alright. It's nothing bad, just well, general details in here, mostly on how to avoid the more hostile ones. It's... It's a little tiring to be seeing the same people on the operating table every month." That was out of left field, for someone so enamored in his work. Or was it a counter, for at the mere mention of the police, his fingers had tied internal knots in themselves? "...... I-If... I-If it helps, I sup-suppose. B-Better to lie low than lie i-innocent." Finger knots, tongue knots and word knots! Knot a nice subject for him to be tangling his hands in again, but then the following silence did make that cloud of guilt reappear.

He could tell her about it, right? Or not. Dropping that on her might come off as whiny? He was not the good person in the first place, no use painting something like that to get pity. Especially from someone who seemed so independent, pity was probably only a word in a dictionary. Not the best time, then. Even though she did say that she would hear him out, so many, so many times before.

"Ask away," he mumbled, wondering if something dropped behind the counter. Must have been a tumbler or something, or one of those heavy cream cartons? Or just an ornament, or a paperweight, or a ah... something unimportant. He had better things to think about, like staring at the elevator doors, waiting for it to open, not until there's enough frost on it to be visible.

"Oh." Nothing important, or unfamiliar. "I don't know, I don't have much experience with them, to be honest. A bit of nausea, or maybe that was because of the change in gravity, I'm not sure." A quiet affirmation that all his cells are going to hold themselves together in the back of his head as his cold feet dragged themselves to wait beside her. "Though, that would be useful if you need to leave the hospital quickly next time. Less chances of accidents or.... uh." He meant to say 'witnesses', but it was unlikely that Amarante would say little if she opened one of the doors that did not lead to anywhere else in the hospital.

".... Which?" Forgotten. Such a poor memory. "The one in your house?"

Eep! She was still sharp enough to catch that, and curious enough to poke at it. "Surgery, mostly. The cases that most others consider last-ditch, or the procedures that are carry too much risk to exchange for a life." Here's to hoping that talking about that would cover up the stutter. "Hardly talk to patients as it is, but I do help out with the rounds or when they need more manpower, but otherwise there's hardly anything to do other than warming up or doing research. Speaking of that," he shifted the folder to one hand and pointed the other at the drinks she was carrying. "Are those hot or cold? If they're cold, then maybe if I carry them, the ice won't melt as quickly?" It might help if she had her drink first, or was it just because of a long day? Did caffeine work as quickly for her? As a pick-me-up and a painkiller, a word of warning, shh, shh! Now was not the time, ground feet. So useful, a face made of stone. Good thing she won't see his eyes rolling around in pain when he shut them.

Much as he hated to admit it, yes. ".... When you end up simply covering your eyes in case said basement happens to contain any hostile things, that can happen." Sure, getting trapped in a basement full of zombies, or a basement with a black hole. That or stick his finger in the lock and hope that it somehow opened.

"I...!" Oh, crap. "I... No, that's n-not it, just..." A habit of talking over those kinds of questions, but she did not mean it on purpose, did she? Even with hands covering his face, he could still hear her. He should have known better! Such a nice beginning of a visit! ".... I'm sorry. I shouldn't have tried that." Don't open those eyes, not yet!

He should do something. But what? The internal game of tag was throwing off his concentration, making him fiddle with the ribbon on his head, tightening it through the braid. "...."

Oh that was new. Is his face reddening because of embarrassment, awkwardness or - ah, no solidifying heads today. Not yet, since he could keep half his mind focused on something else. But! "Okay. I'll keep that in mind. I'm sorry about that." More like carve it into whatever recesses in that learning process that weren't already covered in little bits of 'things to do', but acceptable.

Now, patting at thin air was going to alert her, right? He gingerly opened one eye - making sure that said eye was the right one and properly put into its place before that - and took the tray with his free hand. "Yeah. Better if it doesn't turn into slush before we reach our destination."

Oop, he'd better get a move on. Too many times did he get stuck in an elevator, same goes for her probably. And don't drop the tray, those butter fingers that turned into jelly with just one touch! Don't say a word, get that other eye in so he can watch where he was stepping, then follow after her. Meekly. Like he was too awkward to be there. "T-That's okay, I'll wait," he mumbled absently, still praying hard that nothing would come of it, and that he did not somehow manage to trip while holding the tray.

Oh, phew. The incessant pounding died down. He shook his head to clear the remaining flecks of pain and the stars clogging up his vision. So much better... At the cost of completely missing at least half of her speech. Oh dear. "C-Caffeine? Er... Mostly. Energy from that and the sugar." Not a good reason why he did not just plainly drink sugar water, but it would have to do. "It beats getting slipped the wrong coffee in the pantry, at least.... I hope I'm not a heavy burden on your sugar sources, however." If every time he ordered a drink, a full pot had to be dumped in, maybe next time he should pay extra for the sugar too. But the question was, would he rather do that or buy sugar from the grocery store and risk someone switching his cup yet again? The choice was pretty obvious, and it had an added plus of visiting her now and then! A-wait, waaait... Never mind...

A definition of 'bootlegger tunnel' brought up an unwelcome image of solid walls and spoons. That probably was not intended. So, his answer was a long, drawn out "Nooo.......?" Terribly, terribly under-educated about anything outside. "It goes to your basement?" he guessed. "Or one of those corridors that can be hidden behind bookshelves?"

Oh, phew. She was not leading him to some underground labyrinth then. Or maybe her basement was said labyrinth. Suuure... The architecture was a simple, yet slightly unnerving. Maybe it was just that old place that was home. Or something else. Sheesh, make up that mind! At least it was safe, with her assurance. So would he run into anyone familiar down here and end up head down with his face on fire. Figuratively, he hoped. From Amarante's words alone he was pretty sure her elf friend could be volatile.

He was silently grateful to her for that. Three people lecturing him every single time he went to get some morning coffee was more than enough. "Not so much. Who does?" Someone of more mature tastes? Like perhaps everyone else who doesn't eat sugar by the shovelful? But then shovelfuls aren't little at all! "... If at any time someone does raise a complaint about it or the sugar expenses.... Um, I could always buy coffee from you and add sugar later?" And that means he would have to endure not drinking it before he got back to the office, for the sake of the bitterness.

"N-No! Um... I mean, no thanks. I can handle it, don't worry." He went back to staring at his feet. Handling one person with a cradle hold was one thing, being handled that way himself was another. And he doubted that she would mind carrying a few extra grams of solidified water vapor on top of that. He was focusing more on the drinks anyway, leaving someone else to make sure nothing fell out of the file by accident. Finally a good use for that.

"Oh no, that's alright." Immediate denial. Why? "I'm not edible, so you don't have to mix edibles and inedibles and get an upset stomach." Because the point was already jettisoned into orbit. The thoughts on repaying her in sugar were stifled, however, for the time being. And before anyone brought up the idea of putting the owed amount in pastry treats for her, he would either be baking for the rest of his life or condemning her to something more than a sugar coma. Both of which, not very nice outcomes.

To be welcomed in another little community, without judgement? Don't smile. No matter how amusing getting tangled with said community would be. His colleagues were more than enough to deal with, and it was only how many staff compared to how many people living in her house, sans basement? So freeze those thoughts with a little practicality. "... The air conditioning expenses would be devastating," he mumbled, not very happy at having to make excuses because of sentence rules. That and that was probably the lamest excuse he could come up with.

At least two rather uh, significant sources of mischief would be out. Unless they came back at any time because it would be funny. Pessimist. It made him feel a little better, to not get his face set on fire both literally and figuratively.

The quickest response that jumped to his mind was 'No, I totally don't deserve any, I've got too many things to do, doing nothing is unacceptable' but that got shooshed pretty quickly. Well, he could always just accept it, right? Besides, now that he thought about it, it was kind of nice, that situation. No perpetual sense of paranoia, no getting judged for job-relationship conflicts, no madly escaping from teasing... Like he could ever. Very pessimistic. Not pessimistic enough to rudely pop her idealistic bubble, though. She was free to imagine, he just worked with what he was given.