Finch looks over, attention drawn by the pensiveness in the tone of his young punk-rock acquaintance. Wretched enough to be taken from all you love; worse if there's someone back 'home' that depends on you. If Finch were a tactile sort of person he might attempt a small shoulder pat-- but he is not, particularly.

"I'm sorry to hear that," he murmurs. "I'm sure your parents are taking care of her, though." It sounds like the thin comfort it is, but there's really no social script that Finch knows of for 'we've all been abducted by aliens.'

There is, however, a polite social script for dogs and jerky. "Oh. Yes. That's fine-- I try not to spoil him normally but.... I think this counts as a special occasion. Bear, say thank you-- blaffen!"

Bear sits up and lets out a single bark; Finch smiles a little, a touch of amusement amid all the darker thoughts.