Neal leans against the doorway, looking at the inside of the library instead of watching the hall. Lost in though, or lack of thought, really. Letting himself drift a little bit as he tries to sort through the mixed feelings in his chest.
Collins didn't necessarily attempt to sneak up on Caffery but he couldn't help it if the man wasn't paying attention. He came from the outside of the library, having been off-duty for once when he contacted the other man. The Butcher reached out a hand to set it lightly on Neal's shoulder.
Drifting doesn't mean not paying attention--not with the life he's led or the things that have happened lately. He looks over at Collins as he approaches, and to his own surprise doesn't flinch away from the hand on his shoulder.
There's even a small, unsure smile.
"Feels weird to hear that when we were more or less the same age a couple of days ago."
He hadn't liked it. He hated it even more now that he was himself again. Being young again was bad enough for him, being young again with all the extra knowledge made it even worse. As if that had ever seemed possible.
He chose to ignore that. He had other things in mind.
"It was." Neal also hates it even more now than he did as it was happening. A lot more now, in fact. He gives Collins a long, considering look, though there's more sentimental uncertainty in it than consideration, honestly.
"Me too." A soft, awkward half-laugh. "I think you know more about me now than ninety percent of people on board. Maybe ninety-five."
Something they both knew they could use against each other. Collins made no attempt to assuage that fear nor cause it. Perhaps out of care, perhaps just saving it for a rainy day. Or perhaps he just didn't want to discuss it at all. Neither of their childhoods were all that positive, maybe there was no sense in dredging up old ghosts.
"Come, come," he said suddenly. He waved a hand and began to walk away, deeper into the library.
Neal takes a deep breath and follows, trying to reconcile with himself that he's willingly going to the place he was killed with the person who did it. The man who was as close as family during a breach, the man whose childhood is such a particular shade of familiar.
As they walked Collins filled the silence. He waved at an object or indicated an aisle and spoke about it. It was all idle chatter until there was a pause as they came to a suffocating tunnel. Then he spoke again, a meaning to the conversation now.
"You want something from me, don't you? Of course you do. You would like something I took returned ta you."
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Suit yerself. I'm quite fond of tha place meself.
I'll meet ya there in a few minutes near tha entrance.
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"Hello, boyo."
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There's even a small, unsure smile.
"Feels weird to hear that when we were more or less the same age a couple of days ago."
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He hadn't liked it. He hated it even more now that he was himself again. Being young again was bad enough for him, being young again with all the extra knowledge made it even worse. As if that had ever seemed possible.
He chose to ignore that. He had other things in mind.
"I did enjoy gettin' ta know ya, lad."
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"Me too." A soft, awkward half-laugh. "I think you know more about me now than ninety percent of people on board. Maybe ninety-five."
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Something they both knew they could use against each other. Collins made no attempt to assuage that fear nor cause it. Perhaps out of care, perhaps just saving it for a rainy day. Or perhaps he just didn't want to discuss it at all. Neither of their childhoods were all that positive, maybe there was no sense in dredging up old ghosts.
"Come, come," he said suddenly. He waved a hand and began to walk away, deeper into the library.
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It's weird.
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"You want something from me, don't you? Of course you do. You would like something I took returned ta you."