See, this is the hard part about being the youngest of the guys. I'm the last one. It's hard to believe, but this is the last time I'll be making this trip. It's funny, but even when your mirror tells you the truth, you don't wanna believe it. Even when you get the lab results, you just toss them aside.
I see my daughter watching me out of the corner of my eye. She worries way too much. She doesn't understand that it's okay. I'm ready. I've had a fantastic life. I've seen and done things that most guys only get to dream about.
I got to work with some of the bravest and most honorable men in the world. I got brothers out of the deal. Who gets to say that, huh? And every year, since we first got back to London, we have been meeting to toast what we accomplished. And to mourn those we lost. Kinch…he was the first. But over the years, not the last.
The barkeep stays far away, knowing much better than most what I am doing. I smile as I pour the toasts. Five…five shots. From Peter's private stock. I sigh, tears stinging my eyes as I raise my glass. I briefly meet the barkeep's eyes, so like his father's green ones. I shut my eyes, remembering…
I drink a last toast to my comrades…my heroes. They were, you know, all of them, always.
As I place my empty glass on the bar next to its still full mates, I know somehow, I will never return to the States. And I hope my daughter will forgive me. Because it is time. Faintly, I hear Rob Newkirk's startled voice… "Mr. Carter!"
The End