"I figured as much. Don't worry, that's lambic. It's practically all cider, no hard." And good-tasting, too. It's a drink she wouldn't feel bad giving to Marco or Tom.

She smiles, warm as the alcohol in her stomach. "That's good to hear. You all go off on these missions all the time, and I tend to worry that the aftermath's even worse."

After all, she'd know about how everyone's platitudes of 'at least no one died' ring hollow in the face of coping. Such phrases invalidate the very real processing of harsh events. 'No one died' is the way to rationalize away and minimize 'but we still lost something, even if it's just a piece of our souls'.

She shakes her head. "I don't have a problem or anything. I just don't want him to worry. He thinks he has to parent me as much as I parent him." She rolls her eyes to mask very real sadness there. "He's fine. A little younger than before the clock, but not by much."

Not by enough to save him.