| His only intent in hunting Razor down had been to beg for a fighter and a place — any place — in the squad. Janus wasn’t a fool. He understood how these things work. He’d been critically injured, out of commission for an indefinite time, and there were still battles to be fought. They never would have waited for him. He would have thought less of Captain Ives for doing so, and Ives hadn’t kept them alive for those first harrowing months by being an idiot. They were all replaceable. Janus didn’t expect his job back. He just wanted to do something.
He didn’t do well with inaction. Never had, spending his whole life going from one battle to the next. It was the only way Janus knew how to function. He’d spent the whole day in the fighter bay, finding something to occupy himself with. For all of his issues — Prophets help him, there were many — Janus knew his own mind. Left to his own devices, he was sure he’d eventually end up in the brig, beating Lucan cin Nicander to a pulp. He was fairly certain that there must be some reason the traitor hadn’t been shoved out an airlock yet, Janus had determined that he needed to be clearheaded enough to steer clear. So here he was. He’d helped out the deck crew, volunteered to be Gemini’s RIO for a ride along to see a Valravn in action, and kept an eye out for Razor.
Clearly, some habits died hard, because when he’d finally found his successor, Janus was overly focused on judging the human’s mental state, as a commander should be. Dammit Ghost. After they’d released him from sickbay, he’d gone to her first, undeniably curious after hearing about her sudden interest in his wellbeing. Not that he didn’t appreciate the sentiment, but why now? She’d shared her worries about Razor willingly enough. Learning it was a scheme had been… well, at least it made sense. He’d always liked Ghost. She toed the line a bit more than the others, but when it counted he was sure she’d be there. Janus had always suspected that like him, she didn’t do well with boredom.
Looking at Razor now… Ghost’s words were ringing in his head again. Being a fighter pilot took a unique personality. They had a dangerous job, racing towards the enemy in small one or two person ships, leaving the relative safety of the well shielded starship behind. Out there, a split second’s decision was the only difference between life and death. Sure, they worked as a pack, drilled that mentality into their heads until they lived and breathed together. But in some ways, they were still very much alone out there. Other departments tended to complain about the antics of off duty fighter pilots, demanded to know why they were allowed so much leeway. They didn’t understand that pilots needed to let off steam. Or else they’d all be fucking insane.
Razor was the perfect example of what happened when pilots didn’t let loose. He looked like a man on a precipice, holding it all in until he couldn’t breathe.
“Can we talk in your office, sir?” Janus had erred on the side of overly differential. He figured the easiest way to break the ice was to make it clear where things stood. That paid off quickly once they were in private — the chief of the deck was mercifully absent from the shared office. Instead of sitting behind the desk, Razor practically collapsed onto the couch.
“That bad huh?” Janus didn’t wait for an invitation to sit as well. “Please tell me there’s still booze stashed in here somewhere?” |
Topic: Day 18 [0800 hrs.] Returning Wolf Leader (Read 7083 times)
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