"To New Orleans," he confirms. "An' I was raised there, but I've been a few places since." He nods, slightly.

Thanks to the hairs on the back of his neck, he's well aware that Tom's sizing him up, but he ignores the prickle at his spine that it causes.

(He can't help it. As much as he hates the instincts, they've saved his life too many times before not to listen. But not here. He doesn't need them here. He just wants to turn them off but he can't.)

But Doc's not stupid. He senses the statement - these are loyal hands, longtime workers and they have rank - and the warning.

It's not hard to miss. He suspects that's on purpose.