Matt tenses, and Tim tenses, too. An automatic reaction, a conditioning of childhood. The way he would when his dad was angry about something and Tim would do everything he could to talk him down from that rage, to make him relax, and would end up stepping on a god damn landmine instead. His father would tense and then Tim would tense and then he'd get hit.

That's what Tim's waiting for now, up until he realizes how ridiculous that is. They're in a fucking courthouse with tons of people around. And besides that, Matt isn't his father. They might have the same rage, but that doesn't mean Matt's going to act on it. It doesn't mean Matt's going to hit him.

Still. Tim can't relax. He can't, not until the grip Matt has on his cane stops leaving his knuckles white. It's hard to think about anything other than soothing the frayed ends of Matt's temper right now.

He's quiet, though, as they go down the courthouse steps and make their way outside. Where the air is fresh and it doesn't smell like cleaning products and leather briefcases. Admittedly, Tim is not very fond of the courthouse. It's his least favorite part of this job.

Tim glances at Matt. Though he doesn't exactly relax, he is a little relieved. Sooner is better. The sooner he can calm Matt down, the better.

"Whenever you want," he says. "I'm free the rest of the day."