Neal takes a step back, struck in a spot he wasn't expecting, a place he doesn't recognize as a wound Rebecca opened and Peter salted with insistence that she really loved him. "What? No, Malcolm, I'm... He's not-- I know what he is, all right? I... He's what I am right now."

He looks down at himself again, smeared with blood, and gives a convulsive little shudder. "And he's been this so much longer. He--"

Neal closes his eyes, squeezes them shut, tries to put his thoughts in order.