Wasn't that the same song and dance, though? Why be a doctor if it changed nothing? Why do anything at all, why wake up in the mornings? Stone cold. His expression turns hard for a moment, just long enough to attempt to convince himself that all he loves was worth something. "Maybe not to you but it will for me." Change things. No, he doesn't know what that meant. Don't ask. He wasn't going to kill. He wasn't going to hurt anyone. Not anyone. He wasn't some-- some child. Some uneducated boy. He knew. He knew things. Too many things. He knew right and wrong and he's pacing again. It was either that or singing and if he sung he'd just seem crazy.

He stops again and signals to himself and maybe he's miffed. Maybe. "Being a doctor might not mean anything to you, but it does to me." Maybe he misunderstood the whole thing. He won't ask for clarification, won't issue an apology either. His stomach rumbles- but whatever.

Then, reality strikes again. He has no idea what's going on. "What do you mean 'arena'? Is that what they call these things? What-" wait a minute. She's got a knife and he doesn't, so marching up to the woman is the safe thing to do. He wouldn't hurt her. He's not mad at her. He's not even mad. Just excited. The fearful kind of excited, which is the most common kind that plagues him. Hawk frowns. He searches her face. Scared out of his skull? Him? Nah. No. Really. He moves his hands- up and down and all over. Meaningless gestures and trying his luck with proximity. Oh, and also? He's loud. "What do you mean first?"