Deckard held on until McCrane either pulled back or reciprocated. He was glad when it proved the latter. He shook his head, face tucked to McCrane's shoulder. "You haven't failed, McCrane. You've done a remarkable job of handling yourself the best you could in a position you were never meant to have to bear. If anyone's failed . . . it was me. Letting you keep a position you weren't really equipped for, not stepping up sooner myself…" It wasn't that he really blamed himself – or anyway, he wasn't letting any slip into his voice, keeping his focus on his teammate and brother – it was just that McCrane had. not. failed. "I don't think you gave up. I think you held on longer than maybe you should have, for your own sake, and finally let go of something that you really needed to."

Speaking of finally letting go, Deckard did, shifting back at least enough to meet McCrane's gaze. "It's time to come home, though. Inasmuch as anything here is 'home.' You're missed, by a lot of people, and we weren't built to be alone."