Krouse sets the picture down on his knee and reaches for the bottle opener on the coffee table. He cracks the beer and captures the head of foam in his mouth quickly, knocking back a short swallow, then picks the picture back up.

"She died," he says, like lancing a persistently infected wound. It hurts every time, no matter how often he does it. A fresh gush of grief and regret, welling up inside the aching confines of his ribs.

"Fuck. I'm sorry, man, it's - " he sets his beer down and rubs his hand over his face, shaking his head. "That's not why I brought her up. I'm - dealing with it. I've been dealing with it. You know."

Fabian does know. A father isn't like a girlfriend, but the punched out place in the world where a person used to be is something they both understand.

"I just..." he sighs, face still in his hand. "I guess what I'm saying is if you want to talk about what happened with Gorgug with someone who gets it, I get it. And I'll keep it between us. It's just hard seeing someone you care about like that."