Kian eyed the water suspiciously, and Ian couldn't blame him for that. He<span style="font-style: italic">was</span>chained up in Ian's basement and that had to put a damper on whatever fragile trust he forced the occupants to confide in him.<span style="color: #00BF80">"You'd tell me if it was roofied, right?"</span>Ian grinned in response. Oh, this one was going to be<span style="font-style: italic">fun.</span><br/><br/>"Probably not, no," Ian answered with nothing but honesty. That probably didn't help the whole 'fragile trust' bit, but at least he was forthright. "But what would I gain from drugging you? You already couldn't fight me back if I<span style="font-style: italic">were</span>to do something. Roofies just take the fun out of it." His intentions were good enough though, and as if to prove it he raised the glass to his own lips, holding the straw away from the rim with his forefinger and taking a solid drink. It was cold, almost too cold for his liking, but it felt good on a throat he hadn't realized was starting to go dry. He offered it up to Kian again. "See? Harmless."<br/><br/>Ian absently looked around for somewhere to sit, spinning around at the waist to look at the small, white, folding table that had been decorated with various organized instruments. He excused himself and bent down just slightly to balance the glass of water on Lydia's shoulder so that it was resting more against her head and arms, and set the plate down in front of her. It wasn't that he didn't trust Kian not to kick it, should he have put it in front of him instead, but he'd just rather be safe than sorry. He made quick work of folding up the cloth that lay beneath the tools on the table, wrapping it tightly around itself so that they would all stay together, before picking up the table and walking it the length of the basement. The table was deposited in front of Kian, but Ian returned to Lydia to retrieve the glass and plate. He sat on the table, legs crossed with the plate in his lap and the glass of water extended for Kian's convenience.<br/><br/>The water trickling down the glass came to pool on his fingers and it was oddly refreshing against his skin. He kept the glass held out, but his attention was focused on the plate. The fork made a soft yet irritating scraping sound against the plate stroganoff was pushed around and scooped onto the piece of bread. His eyes trailed up just slightly to examine Jack. He'd been fading in and out of consciousness for quite some time now. He'd have to check on that later, but for now he more important things to do than dote on slumped over old man.<br/><br/>"Do you remember me at all, Kian?" he asked, running the fork against the crust of the bread to scrape off any stray stroganoff that might fall on the floor. The fork was discarded on the plate and largely forgotten about, and Ian brought the water down to rest on the table beside him and offered Kian the food instead. "It seems that we've had a habit of running into each other the past few days."<br/><br/>If he could be honest with himself, he wasn't entirely sure why he wanted Kian to remember him at all. He hadn't cared if Lydia remembered him, or Jack, or Thomas, or anyone who came before that remembered him. He could have come up with some half-hearted excuse for himself. He could have turned it in to some attempt at teaching him a lesson about giving his personal information to strangers, but really if you couldn't trust medical personnel at your own psychiatrist's office, who could you trust? He could care less about teaching a lesson, though. What it all boiled down to was the satisfaction of getting to watch whatever series of expressions the poor man could muster as the realization dawned on him that he had been a ridiculously easy target, that he had literally given Ian all of the information he needed to take him. He hoped that whatever epiphany Kian had didn't stifle that sarcasm. He liked that part.