Peter was likewise dressed in black. His trademark color, it had been remarked, and joked about. But this was November, and memories five years fresh still shook him when that date was within sight on the calendar page. November 8th. This year was 2005. He wondered where he would be in a year's time; struggling to stay at home and not interfere with time? Or in New York City, standing in Kirby Plaza, ready to risk it all for that one moment to save the world.
At first, it was hard to tell if feelings of emptiness were his own, or hers. But they were echoing one another. Peter was silent for the time it took for him to enter the cafe, and take a seat beside Elisabeth. Still wordless, he placed a hand over hers, and squeezed lightly.