B remembers being asked this question, back before he was even a person again. Funny how nobody's asked him that since. The closest he ever came was his damn shrink asking him what he wanted, and then ridiculing his answer.

He thinks about it seriously for a moment, as he brushes out her hair, careful to avoid unweaving Sweeney's hair in the process. He doesn't think chocolate and soft things really cut it anymore. Apparently he's gotten more complicated since then. "I don't think I know anymore," he admits. "What makes you happy?"