After the Death of Gods, what's left to say?
Ty didn't spend much time in Atlantis. His wounds weren't physical, and Arthur quickly made it clear that Ty was somehow to blame for all of this, and wasn't welcome. Not near him, not in Atlantis, and not near the body of the Princess. And no, she was not coming to the surface for burial or anything else.

He's been in his workshop ever since. Now and then he tries for some semblance of order, trying to put the dust and scraps back together into pieces, and pieces into something vaguely recognizeable as machinery. Trying to reassemble his star charts, his blackboard full of equations, his notebooks full of warp theory calculations. It never goes far... either things just don't reassemble right, or frustration kicks in and he destroys it all over again.

After all, that's what he does. He destroys, he loses. All the power in the world, all the powers in the world... control over time, and he was too late. The might of a god, and everything slipped through his fingers. One of the greatest psychic wills in existence, and he still lost control. And worst of all, brilliant minds, use of 90 percent of his brain and total recall... letting him relive and replay every instant. Every minute detail. Every sound, every sight. Reviewing everything he should have done over and over.

They'd been so close. Vacation, normalcy, holidays with his mother now that, with Cait's help, he had achieved a semblance of control. His plans for Christmas... and now it was all gone.