"My good pie is your good pie," David replied easily, allowing the plate to be semi-secretly swept away. After a moment he rose after it, crossing around the desk to perch on one corner; it gave a certain message, sitting somberly while the patient sat in their chair, and while Arla clearly seemed to need his mind to pick, she was also a friend.
Folding his arms lightly across his chest, he considered her. "What do you do when you do leave?" David asked finally, an interested quirk to his head. "When you have to go out, I mean. What for?"