"I'm flattered you think so highly of me," he replies, with a slight smile, and to an extent...he really is. That part, at least, is rooted in truth. Héctor is far, far more honest than he is, more open - he respects that, even if it's not for him.

Ah, and now there's the other parts. Ekkehardt listens quietly, without interrupting, before he speaks again.

It's not an unfamiliar thing, that numbing, that getting used to loss. If he broke his heart over every patient that slipped away, he wouldn't make a very good medic, or a good surgeon. It was a kind of professional care, a distance that came easily to him.

But that's not quite what Héctor is saying, is it? And maybe he understands that too, a little. That tired, grim reality of knowing that the people you were used to seeing every day might not be there the next day, or the next, depending on what happened.

"It's fine," he says, at last. "It's nothing to apologise for, being so attached. Wanting things to be better for the people you care about.

Even if the situation is terrible, it's still what you have to live with. So...you cope. And if you lose familiar faces, then it becomes...normal, even if it shouldn't be, because there's nothing to be done about it."

His tone is odd. Keeping people at arm's length, a polite and unmemorable distance, is where he thrives - but he feels he at least owes it to Héctor to be honest about some things. They're both dead, after all, and that counts for something.

He -- shrugs, a sort of odd tension apparent in the set of his shoulders. "It's understandable."

After a short pause, he laughs, and it's strange and soft and short. "And we haven't even gotten to the drinking yet. You're right - we probably should, soon."

At least Soleil is within sight. It's not that long a walk, in the end. Conversation has made it pass much more quickly.