Deckard hesitated an instant, just . . . taking in the sight of the face before him, reassuring himself that he'd not - yet? - lost McCrane. Then a small crooked grin pulled at his mouth. "I'd hoped you would . . . but I can't say I'd expected it." The crooked grin grew a bit. "You're programmed from me, after all. I know how I can get."

Another beat, and then he was stepping in, before he changed his mind and hopefully before McCrane could react. If the sniper didn't keep him from it, Deckard pulled his brother into an embrace.