Deanna places her thoughts, and purpose, momentarily to the back, as seeing him did nothing to alleviate the great weight that had suddenly ricocheted through him and spread already to fill the room.

One that continues to only draw in, tighter on him as he sits up straight, pulling himself together, as though he had not been stuck in thought, leaning on his table. A man of great concern with how he was perceived, it was part of her job both to acknowledge the feeling, itself, and his actions as they happened.

There is a compassionate concern, even to her bluntness. “Are you alright, sir?”