"Home?" Quentin muttered to himself. He was taken aback, caught completely off guard. That was the last thing he expected to hear from the old man of all people. Was he serious? No, it... it had to be a mistake. "You can't be serious? You're the one who said..." he let himself trail, it was obvious this other discussion was more important at the moment so Quentin kept it to himself for the time being. But... home? After these long years? What was he even supposed to do? What could he say to her? That was assuming she even knew he existed at all.

While Xehanort talked to the others, Quentin let himself be lost in his own thoughts. Those thoughts of course were all about one person. Without having to think about it, Quentin retrieved something from his jacket pocket. It was a photo, in it was three individuals: a father, a mother, and their unhatched egg. Just looking at it brought an instinctive smile to Quentin's face... and tears to his eyes. She'd be 11 years old by now, her childhood almost behind her. And here Quentin was, missing out on all of it. But... but if what Xehanort said was true, then maybe Quentin wouldn't have to miss out on any more of his little girl's life.

[i]"...You will get used to it, though."[/i]

Quentin quickly put the photo and dried his eyes on his sleeve. Then he eyed the young lady with a puzzled look, "Don't be so certain of that. Some things simply never get easier. 11 years of doing this... and not a day goes by I don't miss the people I was pulled away from." he didn't mean to sound like a downer, but he was being honest at the very least, "And I'm no closer to finding the person I bonded with than when I started, I don't even have the luxury of knowing their name."