Oh. Foot-and-mouth disease strikes again. Midnighter doesn't pretend to look sheepish because he has no shame to speak of, but his hands settle on the sides of Scott's thighs, thumbs stroking back and forth over his skin.

"Well, you were a kid. That makes sense," he offers up with less obnoxious snark. Kids always need something bigger than them to guide them forward or protect them, whether it's a person or an ideal.