It was strange with Lucy and I. For the eighteen months that we were together, we knew that we wouldn't see each other again once we escaped from the City. There was no expectation that we would have forever. [On Chekov's end, at least. Lucy may have fooled herself into thinking otherwise.]
Death and love aren't your only choices, although I would not discourage you from choosing love. [Which is as close as he's going to get to that word as far as they're concerned for now.]