If Sigma has trivialized anything, Roland seems to care about that just as much as he had the empathy. Not enough left in him to respond to either. It's old instinct that tips his head back up and turns him to watch Klim throw, rather than real curiosity. The lower, trained parts of Roland's mind note the look of the man as he aims, the accuracy of it, but his gaze is only really there once the Doctor mentions his son. His head twitches toward Klim, visibly a little surprised, but is it such a bad thing that that reaction was so obvious? It isn't as if the other man doesn't already know Roland has some reason there.

"Next time I'll be ready," he murmurs, setting toward the fallen bird. He crouches to pull the knife from it, wiping it carefully clean over the grass. "But I-"

No, he isn't close enough with this man to speak his doubts, to say he needs to be ready, but he isn't sure he will be. "Suppose I ought to try and keep from making such a spectacle in the future."

Looking up and around won't show him where the cameras are, he knows that. Does it anyway. "Here," he says, tossing the dead bird in front of him in Klim's direction. The ones he'd downed are a little further away, more near Sigma. "Share a meal with me. As thanks for stopping me from going any further."