For a second the world goes a little unfocused. Neal braces a hand against the table, the maelstrom of Tim's feelings washing over him and soaking in like a wave sweeping up past the high tide mark and onto dry sand. Yes, he thinks savagely. Yes, yes, yes--

No.

Neal steadies himself, rounds the table as Tim starts for the door, and moves to pull the boy into a hug. Because god, he's a boy, he's just a fucking kid. He's had an old man's life of traumas with no space for recovery in between. "No, I'm not happy about that. Happy to see you. Happy you're here, that you're alive, but no, I'm not happy about... any of the rest of it."