He doesn’t counter Malcolm, just shakes his head a little. Even though really, it’s true, isn’t it? Everything—almost everything—he did with the FBI, he did to help people. Or at least he tried.

“…Did we ever go to New York City?”

He wanted to do that. He remembers. He remembers, proposing it at Christmas time, talking about the tree downtown and the skating rink. It’s fuzzy, unreal, but it’s there. His grip on Malcolm’s hand tightens a little.