[He gives him a moment. Just watching, with his head tilted down, taking long drags of his cigarette. He blows a thin stream of it upwards, flicks aside some ashes and crouches down next to Reid. With the cigarette between the fingers of one hand, he places it on the back of the other man's head, ruffling his hair.] Don't worry, you'll get used to it.
Takes some time. [And the hand's gone, lifting the cigarette back to his lips.] They'll settle in. You might be a piss poor nursery for them, though, all skin and bones. Bet you could hold a good hundred, though.
Shall we bet? [He chuckles, grabbing Reid's shoulder to roll him over to his side.] On how many can fill your chest before it bursts.