There was indeed face-shooting, as confirmed by his nod and his smile before he nestles his head a little more firmly against Will's shoulder. It was a mess, the whole moment, but he's here and he's alive. Minus one gun.

A gun belonging to a man they both admired, even if Rosinante barely came to know him. Winters' leadership and courage can't be denied.

"Wish he could know we did it," he agrees, and casts his eyes upward toward that star named after the man. "Him and a lot of others. Robin, Pluto, Dr. Solis..." He stops, not for lack of names but to keep from choking up. It's hard to balance elation at their victory with the grief of what it cost to get here. Will's presence here and now is a much-needed comfort.

"I still have the stock. From the shotgun, I mean. Dunno if I can salvage any of it, but if you think of anything..."