Gaeta exhales a small, mostly humorless laugh. He doesn't move his arm away from her touch. "I wouldn't be that rude about it," he says. "I just... don't know what to say about it, most of the time. There wasn't any point talking about it back home; literally everybody went through it, so what could you say?"

You'd talk about the little things. A restaurant down the street that you missed. The way your dad laughed. You'd pin a loved one's picture on the memorial wall; you'd express regret that you never got to meet the family of your boyfriend, or visit one of the Colonies you always swore you'd see someday. But if you let those little pieces add up to the whole -- our civilization is gone -- you'd never survive.

For the sake of doing his job, Gaeta needed to survive.

He manages a crooked smile. "But I appreciate it, Lieutenant. Really. It's, ah... it's good to know you'll listen if I do ever want to talk."