You saw the scar, that's where it's from. You can't argue what a Gatling gun does for damage. It's better for me that I'm here. After, it would've been bad too. Too much hiding, too much loneliness.

[He aches from that loneliness even here, sometimes, when there are people and the distance closing between them means that those old touch-starved instincts are kicking in and he needs something more than just a touch. Careful not to ruin her hair, he lets his fingers rest lightly on the back of her neck as he bends down for a kiss that's neither slow, nor hesitant. He knows what he wants, now.

It's this, a sure kiss as he presses against her body, knowing that she's not drinking anything strange and she's herself. He hasn't had a cigarette in hours, his breath tasting of mint from the sorbet he'd eaten, and though he doesn't press, he's hoping she responds and gives him the permission he's silently seeking.]