Those he paid his respects to were, by and large, no more than footnotes in the history books, if they'd made it there at all. It also meant that they didn't have flowers or people coming to visit them, which suited him just fine. He'd stoop to clearing weeds from them so long as he was here, because it wasn't right for names to be overgrown, but only so long as no one was around, and flowers were right out. It was just the right thing to do, the same way he wasn't smoking and was very grateful to see Laura in a longer shirt than usual.
He nodded at her comment. "Yep." There wasn't much else that he could say about that; as he'd gotten older and had effectively stopped aging, he realized that he was going to outlive everyone around him for a long time to come. That didn't make it any easier.
But then she asked, and damn, where did he begin? "Live with it," he said bluntly. Which wasn't very helpful, but it'd been a fact of his life for so very long that he carried the grief the same way he carried the adamantium on his bones: familiar, uncomfortable weight. "You forget, sometimes," he added, words tugging out of them. "Remember when you can, and forget when remembering's too much. And live with it. Because this," he nodded to the gravestone, "doesn't change."