She fights down her anger visibly, and he knows how much that means - though he still wishes the truth wasn't something she needed to get mad about in the first place. He likes being useful at the hospital, believes in the things he's trying to do and build there, but he also knows, knows in his bones from a deep well of experience, that he could go a hundred different places and find a thousand different things to be and to do. She can be selfish with him, he won't begrudge her that, because there is only one of her but there is still an entire world of places they could go.
The problem is that she knows that, and she still won't go. He sighs, lifts his expressive hands in frustration, but never in acquiescence. It's clear neither of them is giving in today.
Solomon does, indeed know how Torrie is doing more so than Jo, but that doesn't mean he didn't want to see it for himself. His sister has a tendency to downplay things, and Solomon has always been one to want to see, to experience for himself. His eyes made this trip necessary; but it's his heart that really made him make it. "Well, you won the top spot today, worm," he says, smothering down a smile while she settles in with the cookies. He finally slips his pack off his back and sets it on her table, and without comment he opens the pack and takes out a can of soup. He frowns at the can in response to her question, then shakes it off and puts chicken noodle down on her table.
"It's such a mess," he says, frustration in every line of his angular body. He draws out pasta fagioli next, lines it up next to chicken soup, and shakes his head. His dark hair is shaggy, a clear sign he's been too busy or too distracted to see about getting it cut. Minestrone, split pea, and a couple cans of pineapple next. "Theo's a godsend, but it's miserable, just knowing people are afraid to walk down the halls alone. Like they didn't already have enough to be afraid of?" They, not we. It's been that way forever, with Sol somehow counting himself outside of the regular human experience even while he sympathizes with such empathy. He sets another box of the cookies out. "It could be someone I see every day, and I have no idea. It's nuts"