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The Circle had a surprisingly efficient (if paranoid) mail system for the quantity of its members. Bentley supposed you had to be careful with your mail in a business like this, after all. In fact, his packages were a few days late as it was - unsurprisingly, considering the contents could seem suspicious. Not to mention that you had to use certain sellers that wouldn't abuse the knowledge of a giant mafia station's location, but he guessed there was some middle man that did the pick up then brought it to them. (Maybe he'll ask the boss about that later.) It finally checked out, and the doctor was notified that all was good for pick up. Bentley's mood was particularly cheery as he made his way to the meager 'post office,' ID ready.

Luckily, the office wasn't busy today. Most people were working, while Bentley had other duties to perform today; duties that involved the packages that were almost in his possession. Bentley checked the small slip of paper in his pocket, confirming the locker number his mail would be in. Approaching the tall locker marked A-23, the doctor lifted out his ID, sliding it into a small slot and pressing his hand to a small monitor on the door of the locker. His fingers widened, then closed in together, and the computer gave a beep and displayed the words, 'Identification Confirmed. Please wait.'

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"I see." Bentley gave a sharp exhale as his eyes lowered back down to his desk. His smile was disarming, no doubt, but that bitter tightening in his brow could be easily missed under all that hair. "Doesn't everyone here have something to that extent?"

Evan knew a withdrawal when he saw one. After all, his job was to extract information from people; he'd be rather awful at it if he couldn't read a sign like that. Sometimes, he had found, it was the very denial of information that was the most telling - people, regardless of race, were more telling than they could possibly know. In not showing, they showed, and in not telling, they told, but Evan had meant what he said - though anyone would be curious, he didn't need to pry into someone's record to know whether they were reliable or not, and judging from the impossible complicated gadgetry being laid out in some organized mess on the counter, Bentley was good enough at this stuff to have warranted that respect.

"Probably!" he said brightly, neither prying nor pushing, and simply enough, he let it go at that. "But should I ever have any real steamy love letters from a current planetside sweetheart, I'll be sure to show you first, doc. And should you ever need advice for letters of your own, my door is always open."

"I assure you, that won't be necessary," Bentley scoffed in response, straightening his vest as though to ensure that he was as proper looking as he was proper mannered. (It was almost comical, the way he held his nose up in the air, too, wearing his damaged pride on his sleeve.) Indeed, Bentley had enough secrets for one man, and while not open about it, he was smart enough to admit it, because everyone hides something - intentionally or not.

After a moment of silence, in which he seemed to be contemplating something, mouth twitching left to right, he added, "Maybe with different matters, though. If your offer stands for other things." For Bentley, this was going out on a limb. As surrounded and crowded as life was in the Circle Station, by strangers and patients alike, and as long as he had been here, he was still much of a loner, and didn't have experience with asking for someone's company.

Evan blinked at him, caught by surprise for once in this conversation. His hands, holding the letters, had stopped in mid-air. "You-...what? Really?" A pause, and then suspiciously, Evan glanced at he heavy boxes. "...With what, exactly?"

"So I can turn you into a robot, of course." Bentley glanced over his shoulder, expression serious.

Because honestly, Evan wouldn't have put it past him, the other man stared, equally seriously flat, before he broke into a smile. "Almost got me there, doc - close, but no cigar."

The doctor smiled in turn. "Simple conversation will do, then."

"I can provide that," Evan answered easily, slipping his letters neatly back into the padded envelope they came from. "But it's a shame that we can't talk about your torrid love affairs."

This time around, Bentley simply rolled his eyes. "One less thing to worry about, to me."

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