When Raylan closed his eyes, Tim took the opportunity to start rubbing circles around the older man's orbital bones and sinuses. He was quiet for awhile, before he exhaled a careful sigh.

"I don't know what to tell you," he began. "I tried to hold a give and take conversation, I tried being open, and answered a personal question he put to me." Tim paused in the face rub and dropped his hands to Raylan's shoulders. "His response was that I needed to do better about letting people help me."

Tim was struggling not to convey how dismissed he'd felt by Malcolm's response. He knew that it had to be something wrong with him. Everybody kept telling him how sweet Malcolm was but every time Tim talked with the man he ended up feeling criticized; like he was shit the profiler found on his the sole of his shoe.