It's such an intense relief to be able to see him, properly and without any gaps in Daniel's perception, that he's frankly a little terrified of looking away again. And honestly, Daniel just wants to guarantee Seth's solidity, grab his shoulders or hug him or something equally ridiculous, but the memory of how guardedly Seth had reacted to the last physical contact has kept itself obstinately seared into the most active parts of his brain. Daniel jerks to a stop right in front of him, one hand fluttering up and then down again in a relieved, abortive motion. So he tries for a smile but it's just as feeble and stuttering as it twists itself out between the contradictory surges of reassurance, fear, racing guilt.

His hands have forgotten how to stay still though it's doubtful they ever knew in the first place, but he won't touch Seth without some indication that it's all right, not again, so Daniel just smiles weakly and tries to work out something that adequately communicates the tangle of anxious desperation he's been for the last day and or so.

"Good to see you," he says finally, the words spoken with the characteristic steadiness that he doesn't feel, the dual meaning implicit.