It always hits him like a punch low to the belly when the Father gets that overwhelmed by simple kindness. What feels to Radar like the easiest and most obvious thing in the world always seems so fragile and precious to Mulcahy. It makes sense, after six years of anything but kindness, but it aches all the same. It's not fair either that his friend broke so hard in the course of surviving.

He shifts a little more so he can sneak an arm around Mulcahy, still half-huddled under his cloak. "Well, any time you need me to remind you," he says, "I will. 'Cause I mean it, if you weren't here I'd be a whole lot lonelier and missing even more of my friends."

His gaze drifts back to HENRY BLAKE written in the snow, and he blinks hard as he tries to stop his eyes welling up all over again.