[If he ever wanted shmoopy, there is his chance, right there. Beckett is a grand champion of turning away open displays of affection with a barbed comment. And he's actually fairly good at expressing affection when he does want to. But all of it is and has always been restricted by the nature of his world, his life, his kind. What can any of them really feel, the blood-drinking damned?

He knows better now. He understands things that only true death could have taught him. He looks Rhys right in the eye.]

I - you deserve to hear that I am proud of you. The things you've done. The man you are, regardless of what anyone else might think. I'm - this is - you are my friend, Rhys. A better friend that I've often deserved.