Atton wasn't. Really thinking about what he'd dealt with himself. Outside of the reason he'd said what he said, anyway: a sense of deepseated sympathy and respect because he know how hard it was, and that nagging, self-destructive urge to feel utterly inadequate in the face of people he cared about this deeply that had characterised much of his life.

"But you're still doing this," he said quietly, and that was both of the above, too. "No wonder you're bouncing around in like fifty directions at once."