He watches her rise and settle herself, and he feels something tugging in the center of his chest. Even despite the weariness and fear, the horror at what's happened to Neil, at what might be happening now, the desperate need to see his daughters again--part of him still misses this. Being with her, with the two of them. Moving as a smooth, single unit. The kind of tight camaraderie that one only finds in trenches and foxholes.

He pulls out his canteen, drains it, sighs and glances at Tom. "How's your water?" Because running out for even a short time can be dangerous.