"You spent one day of your twenty-third year as a lion," Ford pointed out. It had hardly been a wasted year, the way Tycho made it seem. "And there's nothing that wonderful about twenty-three anyway." At least, it hadn't been a particularly illustrious year for Ford. He'd been twenty-three when his father died. Tycho had already undergone that particular ordeal, however, so his year seemed to be shaping up compared to Ford's history, at least so far.

"But if you're sore about not having a chance to celebrate I'm sure we can come up with something," he continued with a small smile. "Since you owe me a dinner anyway."

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