( He offers up a tiny quirk of the lips at his self-deprecating joke; more an acknowledgment than any real humor. It's unfortunately true, and it's in Ian's nature to obsess over fixing problems. Machines, people, it doesn't matter. He's done it with Nate and he's doing it here, thinking and overthinking and turning the dials and knobs trying to solve a problem that isn't easily solved — that he can't really solve. He's not a fucking psychologist, or therapist, or counselor — he doesn't even know the distinction between the terms. All he can do is this, and it frustratingly doesn't feel like enough. None of what he's doing feels like enough.

He swallows down a mouthful or two while Lance talks. Takes to thumbing the edge of the cup once he sets it back down again, fiddling mindlessly with his chest going blue, flexing the shape of the rim the way some people might fold up napkins or scribble loops. )

So... if you were treating a patient going through what you're going through, what would your long-term treatment plan look like?

( AKA he's ignoring that I'm gonna be fine lame ending to the conversation. )