He can see it and his common sense - fucking heaven his angelic side kicks into gear before he sighs.

"...Kenzi."

He inhales. Don't ask. Don't ask. Do not. ask.

"...What do you want on your waffles?" There's no way that he's not going to ask. He just has to broach it at the right moment because his chest hurts looking at the poor girl. And it's not his corporation being defective. He's lost too many people for it to not be...well. Not to recognize it. It's concern.

So he moves to the kitchen and starts up the waffle maker and - to get creative - takes some of the fruits and vegetables he brought - and then meat. Could I have ever imagined cooking?

It might be terrible.

Waffles at least are easy. He puts them in the toaster oven and then gets out the syrup, setting them on dishes for when she arrives.

"What do you want for Sir Apple?"