Well, that doesn't help the knots in his stomach. Still, Gaeta musters up a small, wry smile, settling his beer back on the table.

(It must be said: it wouldn't occur to Gaeta that someone might be flirting with him, either.)

"You're not from the Colonies, are you?" he asks.

As soon as he says it, he realizes: gods, that would be even worse. Meeting someone in this strange afterlife who died when the bombs fell.