That little linger wasn't lost on him even though it probably appeared that it was. He wouldn't be bold to assume, but he felt he played a part in there somewhere and Caius wasn't sure how to feel about that. A small bit decided to be satisfied while the rest was overtaken by a new level of cynicism that he acquired back home. The same kind that forced him into surrendering and accepting that nothing would be constant for him.

That was irony at it's finest.

Those thoughts were schooled behind a well-practiced mask and an unyielding obstinance to never put himself in a position again where he had to mourn the loss of anyone else. Either by their own choice to leave, or through death. Sometimes they made that decision, other times he decided for them both and as a result, Caius became rather good at distancing himself altogether.

"Two years." he says, drawing it out in an exhale like it was so much longer. It certainly felt longer than it usually did. "We moved from Italy back to Ireland after Abigail 'died' in a car accident."

Yes, he added in the quotes and everything for that one.

"But it came at the right time. I needed to go back."