"Really? Maybe 'cause I'm choosing my words wisely. German is like, the angriest sounding language ever," he laughs. "Give it some time, you'll demand that I stop altogether." It gives him a little thrill, though, to hear her say that. He's not sure why, but a memory sparks in him of being in the LOCCENT command center, holding his breath and praying to anything that what he and Hermann had learned from the second drift was true, that they'd found the only way to close the Breach. He remembers Pentecost--and Chuck, god, it's crazy how much more it hurts now to think that Chuck had ever been gone--and Mako, exchanging their last words, what she'd said to him in Japanese that Hermann had later explained meant I love you, teacher.

He thinks of this, he realizes, because in these moments in the dark of the night, where it's completely private, he can feel comfortable with feeling vulnerable. He can tell her he loves her--maybe not in words she understands just yet--and he can talk to her about the nightmares, the memories that plague him, and he can fully trust that she won't run. "Maybe I'll learn like, French. Game over."