He didn't start, because he didn't hear her. His heart was pounding in his ears, his face stricken with long-buried grief. There was nothing, for him, beyond the body, beyond the memories, beyond the certainty of knowing that there was no danger of infection, because this particular strain of the Legacy Virus was for mutants only, and he no longer qualified. His fingers traced over the wet, sunken contours of the dupe's face, his eyes following their trajectory, and he didn't dare look away.

He'd been robbed of his grief too many times in the past, forced to move on before he was well and truly ready, and for once in his many lives, he was going to take a moment to appreciate the loss as it happened, instead of later, holed up in a dark room.