"Hasn't been good for any of us." He's been focused on death for so long. What he's thinking of now, loosening still further under Neil's hands, is his garden back on the island. His flowers. On his knees with his hands in the cool soil, making things grow.

If he's truly accepted all parts of himself, that means not neglecting any of them.

"It's spring," he murmurs. "I almost didn't notice."