Kyle stares out the window, thinking about all of them and their reasons for leaving, for staying, the things that drew them back to Roswell. Like they couldn't stay away. Or get away. When he left for college, he never thought he'd come back. It felt like a different lifetime, a different person, when the world made sense, and he knew what he wanted.

Now he hasn't a clue, he just knows that out of all of them, apparently he's got it easier than most of them, and more and more he's feeling he doesn't want to complain, just do what he can for them. It's why he became a doctor, so he can understand Alex's feelings on it. On what he'd hoped to gain.

"You know, I could give you a big long speech about how you can't save everyone, but given how long I cried after the last person I lost on the table, I don't think I've got room to talk about it. All you can do though is try and do your best, and a lot of other pithy comments you'll roll your eyes at," he says, turning his head to look at Alex instead of the desert.

"Well, you could get frustrated and take a shot at me." He pales a little, that turn of phrase suddenly nauseating. "Or punch. Definitely meant punch," he says, muttering softly under his breath at how saying that twisted up his gut. "Or we could drink. A lot. Black out drunk sounds like the best thing in the world right now."