"We can get rid of it," he answers easily and simply. If that's what she wants, they can make it happen. It's an easy enough thing, burning it and dumping the ashes down the toilet. Or, if she would rather keep it somewhere safe, John can get her a different identity if she wants, let her take out a safe deposit box at a bank where only she'll know the location, make sure to hide the key somewhere else. They can make it disappear in any number of temporary or permanent ways. Whatever she wants, he'll do.

"You don't need to keep it," he says softly. "Those memories... they'll never go away. A case file isn't going to make it any easier, but you don't need to keep it around to make it any worse either."

These are things he thinks she probably already knows. Nothing he ever says will absolve her of those choices or make her feel as if she's not to blame. That guilt is something she'll always carry and it's something John understands completely. He won't judge her for the choices she's made, but he knows they won't so easily leave either.