[He assumed if she was out there, and indeed alive, and free, that she'd at least been better off than him. No one even knew she was still alive. She's a survivor. He'll never assume any of the ones that are left are okay, but if any of them is strong enough to find their way to something better someday, she is. Especially if everyone thinks she's dead.]
[He doesn't...he doesn't actually want to sit around for this, though.]
[And the thing is, he doesn't have to?]
[Wow, he doesn't have to. It's not like people busting his balls at Freelancer.]
[(And now it hurts because he wants to walk away? Why is the walking away part the part that stings?)]
But you always mattered.
[They all had. But that was his problem wasn't it? He'd tried to be reliable. When the others were upset, he'd tried to reassure them (usually getting snapped at over it by CT or South or told by York he'd made it worse). He'd cared.]
[He'd dreaded every recovery beacon until it hurt too much to feel things like dread.]
[And he'd suffered insanity alone. And he'd survived alone. And he'd fought alone. And he can't resent any of them for never even trying to check on him when they worried about the fact he was still there, working for the project, seemingly loyal. When they needed to hide.]
[But he had cared. And even if he refuses to be stay furious he's a little tired of the people around him not feeling the same.]
[The current stretch of desert is pretty smooth. He unclasps his harness and he literally just walks away, like a friend getting mad at another friend and finding another lunch table, taking a seat farther down the transport, far enough a conversation would be hella awkward. He clasps himself in, leans back, crosses his arms, and kicks his feet up on the empty seat in front of him so nobody can sit there.]
no subject
[He assumed if she was out there, and indeed alive, and free, that she'd at least been better off than him. No one even knew she was still alive. She's a survivor. He'll never assume any of the ones that are left are okay, but if any of them is strong enough to find their way to something better someday, she is. Especially if everyone thinks she's dead.]
[He doesn't...he doesn't actually want to sit around for this, though.]
[And the thing is, he doesn't have to?]
[Wow, he doesn't have to. It's not like people busting his balls at Freelancer.]
[(And now it hurts because he wants to walk away? Why is the walking away part the part that stings?)]
But you always mattered.
[They all had. But that was his problem wasn't it? He'd tried to be reliable. When the others were upset, he'd tried to reassure them (usually getting snapped at over it by CT or South or told by York he'd made it worse). He'd cared.]
[He'd dreaded every recovery beacon until it hurt too much to feel things like dread.]
[And he'd suffered insanity alone. And he'd survived alone. And he'd fought alone. And he can't resent any of them for never even trying to check on him when they worried about the fact he was still there, working for the project, seemingly loyal. When they needed to hide.]
[But he had cared. And even if he refuses to be stay furious he's a little tired of the people around him not feeling the same.]
[The current stretch of desert is pretty smooth. He unclasps his harness and he literally just walks away, like a friend getting mad at another friend and finding another lunch table, taking a seat farther down the transport, far enough a conversation would be hella awkward. He clasps himself in, leans back, crosses his arms, and kicks his feet up on the empty seat in front of him so nobody can sit there.]