He waltzed in tonight, looking none the worse for wear, and in fact not even hungry. But he's not talking.
He would be in big trouble, but I'm too relieved to do anything but squeeze him and kiss him.
I hope this isn't a foreshadowing of what it will be like when HellBoy is a teenager and stays out past curfew. "You are in big trouble, young man ... oh, sweetie, I'm so happy to see you, can I fix you something to eat?"