That quiet came to see him every once in a while, one of the negatives of living two hundred years and fighting in two world wars. There was a lot of death there, and something liked to remind him of all of their faces and many of their names. He never talked about it or wore the medals he had received- almost no one had ever seen them either. Murder wasn't something to be proud of, and that's what war is mass murder.<br/><br/>"Need some pajamas?" he turned the stool towards her and immediately felt her pressing in on him, like a thick fog. Her smell smothered him. "This has been... an interesting day." he mused, his eyes examining her lips and her eyes. Why did she smell so fucking good all of a sudden. "A long day too. I'm crashing. See you in the morning." he started towards the stairs.