He thought about it, after Kate's death. The possibility of just not existing. It wasn't that he wanted to die, really. It was just that there didn't feel like a point to living. It was the same question, or a variation thereon: What if I just stopped?

This time Neal's the one who reaches out, putting his hand over Malcolm's. He doesn't draw away. "We're all getting home. And we're taking care of each other until we do it."

He draws in a breath, opens his mouth to speak. Stops. Tries again. This is hard. "You asked about my dad. Whether I'd looked for him. I have. Off and on. I thought he was dead. My mom told me he died like a hero, went out in a hail of bullets saving the day. My aunt told me the truth when I turned eighteen. That he wasn't a hero, and that he wasn't dead, as far as she knew."

It's not the whole truth, but Neal isn't remotely ready to share that.

"So... I've looked. I've tried to stop looking. But I always end up trying again."