For Moez, he doubted this was how people would expect his life to go, with no purpose but revenge. Tracking down the Task Force that killed his teammates, they were the only people he ever had, they were his friends, his family. And now he has no one, simply an old boat called The Ferry. He needed supplies for his next tracking mission, food, maybe new clothes. And it's been a while since he's been to the city.

Moez had a lot of his money turned into cash, so he would be okay if he rationed everything, keeping a low profile. With a black medical mask and a hoodie, he got some canned food that would last long. Soft clothes and jackets, the ocean was cold, and he gets cold easily. With bags in hand, he entered the train, having bought a ticket and some cash as he took a seat by the window. The train had the cooling on, so it was chilly in here.

Watching people board the trains, Moez's thoughts drifted to his mother, wondering how she was. Or what she was up to. Was she happier without him? He checked the place he needed to stop at, a station near Brighton Beach. Which was a three hours away, he could never be too careful that detective on his arse always popped up unexpectedly. Moez rested his chin on his hand, staring out the window as families and people boarded or left.

He knew someone had taken a seat beside him on the train, but no one familiar, so he wasn't worried. Drifting to his thoughts, his eyes fell shut. Relaxed as he fell asleep slept peacefully. The train lurched forward as it started with a hoot. The groceries tucked under his seat, Moez's body was too exhausted to wake from the noise or movement. His head lulled and rested on the shoulder of the person sitting next to him.

As he slept, plagued by memories of his mother, his friends, and everything he's been through, a silent tear rolled down his cheek. His face was buried in the neck of the stranger. His face relaxed despite the distress of his nightmares. His nightmares never made him wake with cries and screams or rolling around in the sleeping bag on the floor of his boat. He would only wake quietly to the rocking of the Terry. Silently suffering as tears streamed.