[ Yeah. That's going around, isn't it? Gabe scruffs a hand through his hair, noting - not for the first time - that he needs a trim. His hair's getting long again. Scruffy. He used to wear it long, when he was a kid. Pinned up in braids because that was his, that was all him and Gilly, and fuck what the rest of the universe thought.

They shaved his head his first day of training. Ten years in the Wolves or ten years in a labor camp. Either way, he knew he'd be losing pieces of himself.

Gabe drops his hand with a sigh. ]

I do that a lot these days. Used to think I'd be better off burying that shit so deep it'd be like it never happened - and I'd hurt anyone who said otherwise.

[ The smile he gives Daryl is small, and bitter. ]

But it keeps bubbling up, doesn't it? Hits me sideways every time. You're not my father, man. My father got blown up in somebody else's war. You and me, we're just - here.