"Oh, for--" Mahir lets out a string of Extremely British curses under his breath. He doesn't nearly fumble the catch because he's turning, or even because of the concussion. It has more to do with the fact that his hands are full with his luggage, and he's in the middle of walking, but he doesn't drop the test.

His suitcase, however, topples over onto the sidewalk and his laptop bag follows with a loud clunk. Lovely, god knows what state his equipment is likely to be in now. He sighs and jams his hand into the test, leveling a frustrated look in Georgia's direction. "Yes, thank you. Welcome home, Mahir; we've missed you, Mahir; how are you feeling, Mahir. Do you know, I've had at least three of these since that infernal plane landed. If I'm amplifying, it's due to blood loss from all of these sodding tests."

He really is happy to see them, despite his current levels of frustration and exhaustion.