lightconductor | IC Inbox

"I dearly hope you manage to keep that record going," Watson says, honestly. "Hell, my medical degree didn't involve half the things I've seen on this ship. I'm trying to make do, and learn as I go."

If, god forbid, something happens to Wayne, Watson hopes he at least remains conscious enough to offer advice like "no, that's supposed to be like that, don't touch it."

"I don't mean to go on about the ways we're different," he says. "It seems clear to me that we have more in common in the important ways. And as terrible as this place can be at times, we do have a sort of community forming, which you should be welcome to be part of."

"People are always coming up with new and creative ways to die I guess." It might be humorous, if it weren't so bleak.

At the assertion that Watson hadn't meant to get so caught up in the minutiae, Wayne just shakes his head. "It's important, right? If I might end up having to come see you for help when I don't have the energy to help myself then you gotta know what you're working with. I'll try and work something up but there's no guarantee I'm gonna be a good source. My thing's more arts than sciences." He offers a small smile as he continues, "I like it here for the most part. Sure I miss Waynehouse and my crew and my family, but there's no sense in dwelling on the bad stuff when there's just as much to find good in. I'm making friends here and that's like, the coolest part. And I'm getting to see a whole new set of cultures and people and yeah, maybe I'm kinda struggling with some of it, but it's not all bad."

"I think you're more than allowed to be struggling with things here," Watson says. "If I seem to not be... I've been here more than a year, at this point. I have seen any number of things that I would have called impossible, and I am still sometimes caught off guard, and while I did not have a great deal in my life in the time and place I left it, there are nonetheless people I will never see again. I am... I am attempting to make a life here."

And then, because he can't help himself, "So, you're an artist? Might I ask in what way?"

It helps when someone goes out of their way to sort of cushion how rough all of this can actually be. He's right to struggle a little given the circumstances, even while he's trying to make the best of it. He's not perfectly adaptable and that's not a bad thing.

"Maybe some people don't think we can go home but like...I wanna think maybe one day we can, and then when that happens, I kind of- I wanna take some people home with me, if they'd be happy not going back to their own places. I wanna offer my world and try and make them feel welcome." Mostly Pratt if he's being honest. Maybe it would give him the chance to, if not heal, at least find some kind of peace.

He perks up a bit and fishes briefly around himself to find his phone. He keeps hoping eventually he'll figure out how to make it record. For now all he's been able to do is find a really simple metronome kit that he plugs into it to help him keep time. "Music! It's what's been helping me keep it together, to be honest."

"That's deeply kind of you," Watson says. "The places you're from did seem a very lovely place to settle down, even for someone for whom it was strange. Strange is only unfamiliar, after all."

He hesitates. He hates being the bearer of bad news, in this, to someone who is new. "Myself, I'm in the camp that thinks there is no going home. I am -- well, I'm something of an artist myself, a writer. And as it happens, I received a whole collection of books I have not yet written, and will not for decades, some of them. Damned awkward. I don't know how that works, if I were to go back to where I left."

While it's not the first time that he's had the news broken to him, he's been obstinate in his refusal to believe that this would just be it. He's come back from death again and again and again, he's gone to space and made it back home. He doesn't want to believe that this is just it.

At least he can make an effort not to dwell and focus instead on the second part. "Oh wild...do you think I'd be able to find the finished versions of the stuff I was working on? Helena writes too but I haven't gotten to ask her about it yet. Vance is learning how to play his guitar. I don't think I'm very good at teaching him yet."

Sometimes people believe things for their own sanity. Watson won't fight him on it. It isn't worth it, and there's nothing to be gained.

"We don't have much of a music library," he says, "but things do appear from time to time. It's possible. If it does, I don't suppose you'd be willing to share? Or perhaps you might like to arrange a concert of some sort."

"Definitely man, if anything appears I'll let you know. I thought about doing the concert thing, but right now it's just me on guitar and Nobunaga on drums and even then he's got other stuff on his plate. I'm not a vocalist, that was Somsnosa's gig and, y'know. She's not here." A slightly awkward shrug of the shoulder for that. He's trying to do better about not dwelling on not having the rest of his crew about, but he still likes talking about them, and that makes it kind of unavoidable sometimes.

He stands finally, with his notebook on top of the borrowed volume, and holds them both carefully in one arm. "If I'm ever in the theater, you should come hang out. I'll play you something," he offers, "especially since you're letting me use this. It means a lot that you would."

Watson shakes his head. "We have to take care of each other, around here. It's a trifle, and I'm glad to help. You can send me questions any time, and I'll be glad to clarify."

He offers his hand to shake.

The movement is becoming, if not more natural to him, easier to respond to without an awkward pause. He gives Watson's hand an easy squeeze in response.

"I appreciate you, man. I'll hit you up when I can get my music stuff together."

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