By then, his hand's found its way back to her waist, fisted in the fabric just above her hip. He's breathing hard, dazed, grinning a little at the sight and feel of her; the caffeine-like fizz races through his veins.

"I," he starts, and falters.

It's nice, being with her. He can keep the memories at bay, letting the present swallow up the past and future. He feels --

Oh.

(So many things he locked away, after he boarded the train. So much he forgot. Curtis had forgotten this, too.)

"I'm happy," he whispers, with the awe of looking out a window for the first time in decades. "Here. That's what I want."