[ This is so very much not the conversation Ronan wants to be having at the moment. He glares straight at the road in front of him and tries to choose his words wisely, though there's really no good way to discuss Kavinsky. ]

He's... sick. In the head. I don't know how much he'll understand about you, but you can let me fucking handle it, because you sure as shit don't need to deal with that right now.