[There's a familiar weight falling over his shoulders when he sits. He knows it's going to be bad because the two of them never seem to have just casual chats outside of who's making coffee that morning.
And then it hits: a twist in the gut, a phantom pain in his chest he remembers way too well. Klaus. Like dropping a bomb.]
No. [His head drops into his hands, fingers scraping over his face. No, no, no. (Now maybe everyone at home is safe. Jeremy's safe. His kids.)] Dammit, no. You're kidding.