[It's hard not to laugh. Not at her, of course, but just- at this. This crazy situation they found themselves in. Her little slice of the white picket fence life on this rooftop, and maybe a tinge of pain for him, being reminded of a woman who used to get her hands dirty in their backyard. Now overrun by weeds, charred, a heap of cold and empty dirt like where she'd been buried.

He can't help but watch Karen, the girl in her garden, and he's almost afraid of touching anything in case he ruins it. She's missing a colourful outfit and chirping birds to go along with this musical, but one thing's clear - a man like him doesn't belong in a place like this.]

I like it. [It's on the tip of his tongue again, that suggestion to get out of the city and find a proper garden to call her own. She doesn't even have to leave New York - there's plenty of places outside of Manhattan, or even upstate. Plenty of places she could be safe but still close enough to the action. Plenty of places for a proper patch of grass for the children to chase the dog in.

It hurts too much to think, let alone say, so those words don't leave his lips.]

You need this. You need something to hold onto. Something to fight for. Otherwise it's-... [He purses his lips and shakes his head.] It's just uniforms and a flag at your funeral with nothing to show for it.