"Hurting is a part of life." The words were quiet, whether they were agreement or reflection or some combination of the two, it was hard to say. The corners of her mouth turned up wryly, eyes still closed. "And whether or not I'm a better person is still out for the jury. Hurting because you want to, or hurting because you don't know how to do anything else . . . in the end, is there that much of a difference?"

Her lashes separated as her eyes came back to him in turn. Stayed. The wryness was still there, but it had softened, including him in the joke -- and in that, there was acceptance. "How many restarts do you think we get per night?"