Sonia shrugs one shoulder slightly at his question, keeping his hand in hers. "From time to time. More in the winter. This planet doesn't have hospitals, or vaccinations, or any kind of galactic-level medical technology, and up here in the mountains, they have even less. Maybe if the Cetagandans hadn't..."

She falls back into silence with him, boots crunching in the snow. She isn't leading him anywhere in particular, just away from the graveyard, along the rough dirt road that circles the village. She looks up at him when he suddenly speaks, blinking, and then her face softens. Crude though Tucker may be -- and she can practically hear her sister's voice echoing in her head firm agreement -- he isn't unfeeling. He's a person, like everybody else. A person who feels and hurts and loves. And she can tell he loves his son fiercely. It's not hard to tell at all.

Sonia gives him a slight smile and squeezes his hand. "I'd like to," she says, even though she has no way of guaranteeing, no way of even knowing if that's possible. But it doesn't make her any less honest.

"I, ah, don't have any children, as you might have guessed, but..." She gives him a more earnest smile this time, brighter. "You sound like a good father."