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They weren't going to be on mission again until the weapons were back; therefore, Jordan hadn't hesitated to clear out his mission bag for Ferros. He'd conceded the necessity of having his hands free, but he didn't like putting the tablet down. He'd shortened the strap so that the bag hung against his lower back, the tablet's shape and weight pressing there. Cold comfort, but comfort nonetheless.

He paused at the edge of the graveyard when he saw that there was already someone at the new graves. Should he leave them to their thoughts? A second look showed him that it was Ro, and that Ro held a bottle, and that the guy was tense and taut and hunched in on himself in a way that made Jordan frown.

He let his boots rustle in the grass as he moved to stand near Ro, not saying anything, but stopping within Ro's peripheral vision.

This was not the time to make any comments about alcohol as a coping mechanism. When it came down to it, actually, Jordan felt he could stand a little fuzzing of the edges himself. Maybe it would blunt the ache. He took the bottle, drank, and handed it back. Then he sat down on the grass himself, pulling the shoulder bag around under his coat to rest on his lap, his hand resting briefly on the flat shape of the tablet through the fabric of the bag.

"Did she sing that?" he asked finally.

"Ceres? Yeah." Jordan studied the grave marker, his expression distant and quiet. "She was a good person."

After a moment he picked up the bottle again, took another mouthful, set it down. "Wish I'd known her better. Not enough time to know everyone."

Jordan studied Ro quietly. "She wasn't human anymore, at the end," he said. "Maybe none of us are quite fully human due to the weapons. But she couldn't have come home with us like that. And having our weapons asleep, not helping ... " He reached over to rest a hand on Ro's shoulder. "I'm sorry, dude."

Jordan let his hand fall back to rest on the bag that held Ferros. "He was wrong," he acknowledged quietly. "If it'd been someone I loved, I don't know what I would've done." He looked at his hands. "All I know," he said, "is that if I turned into something like that ... I'd want to be ended quickly, if I couldn't die a human."

His stomach twisted with worry, with annoyance and a tinge of fear; Ro was right, Rep's jealousy made it dangerous for Jordan to touch others. Rep wouldn't take it out on him. He'd take it out on whoever Jordan had forgotten not to touch. Something had to be done about that. He just had no idea what.

Ferros, he whispered into the horrible silence in his head. Ferros, I need you. Without the dragon's steadying presence and stubborn common sense, he was adrift on uncertain waters, trying to hold others up while he struggled to stay afloat himself.

Jordan sighed, but didn't argue the point. Rep was an idiot a fair amount of the time. He could recognize that. It didn't change what he felt, and that made things complicated.

At Ro's second statement, though, he looked over at the shorter man, studying his face. "I'd be lying if I said I'd never thought that," he admitted. His hand pressed flat against the shape of Ferros's tablet. "Usually the voice in my head tells me I'm being emo and I should stop. God, I miss him. I don't know how much longer I can cope with the silence."

He stopped, realizing that he'd said all that. He hadn't had much alcohol, but hard liquor and an empty stomach had combined to hit him faster than he'd thought.

Jordan leaned his elbows on his knees, half slumped over, the corners of his mouth pulling down in an unhappy curve. "Sorry, dude," he said quietly. Guilt cut at him, and he didn't know how to make it go away. Part of the problem was him. Why couldn't anything be simple?

He shook his head. "No," he said. "I do know. Ferros rumbles constantly, like an engine on low, and there's a soft hiss like breathing. It hasn't been quiet in my head for over a year, and it makes it really ******** hard to think."