"Rest might be a good idea," he admits, very quietly.
But...he hasn't talked about Picon to anybody else who grew up there in so long. It quenches an entirely different thirst, one he knew even less about than the dryness at the back of his throat.
"Just don't know if I'm gonna manage it." Gaeta tries to shift in his bed again, one hand unerringly seeking out his right thigh. "Anders, look, I'm not -- "
The thought's a little too complex to complete: he's not sure this is a good idea; he is still so angry, even if he's banked down the worst of it; he never thought Anders was that bad a guy until the mission broke down, and this Anders is from so far before that maybe he could still hold to that, if he tried; right now, he may be too weak to try, and he has no idea when he'll be strong again.
Gaeta rummages out one of those thoughts.
"You're not the only one who's homesick." He wets his lips. "So, I mean."
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"Rest might be a good idea," he admits, very quietly.
But...he hasn't talked about Picon to anybody else who grew up there in so long. It quenches an entirely different thirst, one he knew even less about than the dryness at the back of his throat.
"Just don't know if I'm gonna manage it." Gaeta tries to shift in his bed again, one hand unerringly seeking out his right thigh. "Anders, look, I'm not -- "
The thought's a little too complex to complete: he's not sure this is a good idea; he is still so angry, even if he's banked down the worst of it; he never thought Anders was that bad a guy until the mission broke down, and this Anders is from so far before that maybe he could still hold to that, if he tried; right now, he may be too weak to try, and he has no idea when he'll be strong again.
Gaeta rummages out one of those thoughts.
"You're not the only one who's homesick." He wets his lips. "So, I mean."
(He doesn't know what he means.)