Howard doesn't like to share. Anyone who's known him long enough, and by long enough that would mean twenty minutes, would piece that together.

So while delivering some homemade jam to a friend might be, in the hands of others, a neighborly gesture, for Howard it's a lot more important than that. It's practically sacrificial. The jar in his backpack feels heavy, and each thump of it against his spine feels like a reminder of how many calories the stupid thing is. Howard picks up his pace and wishes he brought his bike.

Finally, he gets to the Cedric's room, and shuffles foot to foot in the time-honored Dance of Awkwardness while he waits for Cedric to answer his knocking.

After taking Sherlock Holmes to Med Bay, Kerrigan willingly went with Shoutarou to the Precinct. True, she had helped save Sherlock's life but hat didn't change the fact that she was the one who had tried to kill him- a crime she freely admitted.

If the previous Captain were here Kerrigan could have solved them all a lot of trouble. She'd had an arrangement with him. If she ever became the Queen of Blades again he knew how to kill her quickly, preferably before too much blood was spilled. But Kennedy wasn't here. She had no way of knowing if he had informed anyone else of their arrangement.

Even if he had and even though it wasn't clear to Kerrigan, she wasn't the Queen of Blades. She hadn't murdered someone, despite the stab wounds. And she had not sprouted bladed wings and gone on a killing spree. She was quiet and cooperative, if reluctant to share more about what happened than she all ready had.

"He questioned what evidence we had against the Daligig. I... showed him telepathically. What they did to me. It was too much for him. He insulted me and I stabbed him repeatedly."

She showed no outward display of guilt. Her voice was flat. "Emotionless" was the word most would use to describe her. "Numb" was more accurate.