It matters more than it should; or is that as much as it should, given? People come and go, orders come and go, even the people in SEAL teams come and go. He's seen more people than he could even count come and go, between boats, assignments, missions, and teams. More than he could count, though he could probably still name three-fourths of them if he sat down and thought about it hard enough.
He never viewed them as exchangeable, but he never viewed them as something he needed to keep at the end either. Rather the same as how he viewed all the places he'd been or the apartments he'd kept, none of it mattered, even if it could be detailed out like facts. And this. Danny. Which brings him right back to that, as the truck is crunching up gravel and he's looking at that house, heavy and impending still.
With too many memories of people who don't exist. Officially. That he'll never forget are alive. Shouting it, loudly.
When he's still stuck back at that first thought. It matters more than it should; or is that as much as it should. Now.
Which is only shaken from his head, by Cath trying to drag out hopeful words. He almost feels bad, for a wash there, that she's someone thrown her lot in with him today. When he can't be the best of company. Not with all of this, everywhere. If the house looks pristine, and the car does, and he isn't bandaged up, it doesn't change the everything, everywhere, tripping up his feet every five or ten minutes, is a mess.
The last words, can't a snort that's more a breath out his nose, when he's tossing her a look and pushing his door open, getting out. "Didn't I just give you, like-" There's a wave of hand, fingers together, hand slicing the air once as he looked upward, like he has to consider, think about it at all. Which would help if he weren't dragging out a half rusted edge toward a smirk. Trying for her sake. "-two? hours of it? Are you going to tell me that wasn't enough?"
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He never viewed them as exchangeable, but he never viewed them as something he needed to keep at the end either. Rather the same as how he viewed all the places he'd been or the apartments he'd kept, none of it mattered, even if it could be detailed out like facts. And this. Danny. Which brings him right back to that, as the truck is crunching up gravel and he's looking at that house, heavy and impending still.
With too many memories of people who don't exist. Officially. That he'll never forget are alive. Shouting it, loudly.
When he's still stuck back at that first thought. It matters more than it should; or is that as much as it should. Now.
Which is only shaken from his head, by Cath trying to drag out hopeful words. He almost feels bad, for a wash there, that she's someone thrown her lot in with him today. When he can't be the best of company. Not with all of this, everywhere. If the house looks pristine, and the car does, and he isn't bandaged up, it doesn't change the everything, everywhere, tripping up his feet every five or ten minutes, is a mess.
The last words, can't a snort that's more a breath out his nose, when he's tossing her a look and pushing his door open, getting out. "Didn't I just give you, like-" There's a wave of hand, fingers together, hand slicing the air once as he looked upward, like he has to consider, think about it at all. Which would help if he weren't dragging out a half rusted edge toward a smirk. Trying for her sake. "-two? hours of it? Are you going to tell me that wasn't enough?"