The gesture, the pet name, slid through Kavinsky like an oil slick. That was terribly dangerous. Kavinsky looked for his stop gates, his containments, something, anything to slow down that swoop in his stomach.

He shrugged a little, squeezing back. "Not your problem. Or your fault. What I've got goin' on in my own head's for me to worry about. We're cool." He nudged Jack a little bit. "So, I did my request for all this. Where're we at on your end?"