I know which one I would pick.

The thought comes swift as a bullet. Gaeta has no time to dodge. The best he can do is inhale a shaky breath and try to shove it away -- as if by not looking at it, it won't be true.

(Which is no better a choice.

I'm sure you'll see them tomorrow.)

Blinking hard, he laces his fingers around his empty glass, at a loss for words.