Alright, he had a pretty good idea of what it was going to be - he doesn't know how deep it goes with Finch insofar as that area's concerned, no, and he's not about to start asking questions; it's not any of his business. He listens and he props up his knees again, folds his arms and sets them on them as Finch talks.

He can't help but think of that night in that house, after Jane- whatever. Mr. White's shoulder propped under his arm as he carried him out. He thinks of his house back in Albuquerque, gouges in the wall and watching your toes for needles and unconscious bodies strewn around the room. Yeah, he gets it. He has a pretty fucking good idea of what gets you to that level.

"Been there," he says after a long pause, rubs his hand against one of his arms and ducks his head a little to try to meet Finch's eyes. Another few beats before he speaks up again. "Lucky, though. Havin' someone to help you out like that. It ain't-" He sniffs and pinches his nose, shakes his head briefly. "Ain't easy findin' friends like that."