And she's not about to let him run away again. This is happening now. He opened the box, and she's not going to let him stuff all this shit back in until they've got it sorted.

'I didn't know what to think, Gene. I believed you when you told me what happened to Sam, but it didn't make sense. None of it did, not until -- the farmhouse. You kept coming to me, listen to me.'

She takes his face in her hands, gentle but insistent, her fingers trembling against the side of his face. He's whole, and vibrant, and strong, and glorious. He's here, not mouldering in the ground in some unmarked grave.

'You came to me. From the very first moment I came back, you were there. Every time I turned around, in the archives, in my flat in the middle of the night, bloody hell, in the middle of Luigi's, you were there. And you wanted something from me. I should never have listened to Keats, I know that now, but I could never have turned away from -- God, it was horrific. I saw the wound, Gene. I saw everything, every detail. Your uniform, your hair, your eye, and -- the wound. You wouldn't let me not see it. I don't know why you don't remember, but you trusted me, or you knew I wouldn't let it go, but you came to me, can't you see?'