He watches the kitten paw at Beth's hair, still smiling a little. No, he doesn't have to find a name immediately, but he feels like there should be one. Her bright eyes, her glossy fur and the sharp alertness about her - she deserves a name. Even if it doesn't make any difference to her - because she's a cat - it matters to him.

There's one. But it's silly, stupid even, and while this shouldn't worry him now, he's not sure he can say it. Not without a fair amount of embarrassment.

But this is Beth. Who's seen his scars. Touched them. Heard him say more than he's said to almost anyone about how things used to be.

"I had this turtle," he says once - a little haltingly. "Like... just for a while. Named him Anthony. Dunno why, just really liked the name. But that's a boy's name," he adds, uncertain, and he feels like a fucking kid about this, an awkward kid, but there's something about tying then to now that feels important. Worth doing.

And if anyone at all might understand, it's her.