While Cal spoke, Leandro was silent, just meeting his eye with matching steadiness. He didn't quite respond yet, not even in his posture or his face, but the fact that he wasn't snarking or deflecting was promising. At last he seemed to consider all that Cal said, finally glancing away toward the wall for a moment.
"Hmh. Yeah. Okay. If you really think it's going to help. I'll try it. You can have a blood sample," With that, Leandro leaned over the table and propped up his elbow, ready. "And if you have some kind of idea for rehab or whatever you said, I'll try it too. I haven't felt anything worse lately, but it's been about three months since my luck went to Hell in Cali State." His voice quieted a fair bit now, free hand tracing the design on the table. "I'm sure you know how it is. Every time I feel a little tired, or my chest is giving me grief, I wonder."
As for the rest, Leandro just gave Cal a hardened look, his lips pressed into a line. "But don't press your luck, Doc. I don't buy that hippie "life is what you make it" crap. I'll just go with the evidence until I see something that changes my mind."