Under better circumstances, Jaeger would look at Donna in utter reproach at being scolded like a dog with a stolen treat. As it is, he flinches and automatically pulls the gruesome little thing closer, trying to guard his prize from her disapproving attention.

"No! It's okay. It's okay." The words are bitterly heartfelt, utter conviction that as long as he's holding onto this horrible fleshy lump, it's okay. It's better, because while he's holding it, it doesn't matter if she sees his scars, hears the ruin in his voice. That's what matters, that's what's important. Not the blood, not the bites.

His grip gives a little at her prying, though it's not going to be easy to get him to let go. His hands tremble with the effort of holding tight, and a pained sound escapes him at the very idea of letting it go.