"Not just lose them," Benedict insists, and he's getting sloppy, he knows this, but-- "there's no death or farewell or-- or anything, you just can't find them one day. And it doesn't matter who they were to you, they're just-- you don't know. You don't know where they are, or if they are. Just that they're gone."

The level to which he's straining to keep his face straight is borderline comical, and he eventually cedes a temporary defeat as he ducks his head and pretends to focus on his as-of-now untouched meal.

"Plenty of things have been done to me that I can't take back. At least it's my choice this time. It's worth it." He sniffs wetly, angrily. "...it's worth it if we can find even one answer."