"I don't ... " He stopped short, either not entirely sure where he was going with that statement or lacking the heart to continue it. Whichever the case was, though, he didn't bother trying to find words again, instead simply tilting his head upwards to consider Adam.

If this had happened years ago, he might have blamed the other immortal. He would have dissolved into a pit of anger, hellbent on making sure Adam died as painfully as possible and stayed dead. Or, barring that, he would have at very least tortured the other man until he'd wished he could take his final rest. He would have had all eternity to do it, forever to come up with new and creative ways to make him suffer. He would have made what the Company had done to him near a century ago look like a walk in the park. But he couldn't.

Mohinder was gone. They all were. Only the children were still alive, now. Molly. Micah. Monica, who was getting old and feeble. Matt and Bridget's son, who he didn't have the heart to recall the name of, at the moment. But he'd never been comfortable around the children, even if they'd grown into responsible adults who accepted him perhaps far better than their elders had, and all because they had no idea what he was capable of. And the people who he'd truly hinged his life on were dead.

He wasn't sure he could cope. How Adam could, after years and years and years of loss. So, finally, he asked, "How do you do it?"