Welcome to Gaia! ::

The desert-heated glass was warm against his back as Lucas leaned into it, a guitar strap over his should as the instrument rested across his front. He picked carefully at the strings; between the mission, the concussion, his new work, and the falling out with Claire, he had had little time or will to practice, and it was evident in the quality of his notes. This was depressing in itself, and what was intended to be an opportunity to de-stress only added to his existing stress. With a sigh, he strummed aimlessly at the strings. The hallway was secluded, and he assumed he would be bothering no one in his haphazard melody.

A sound caught his attention before he had any awareness that it was his own name, and he instinctively looked towards the source. Ah, it was Claire. It had been a while since they had last spoken - or, rather, a while since she had last attempted to speak to him.

It was scarcely a fleeting moment before he returned his attention to the guitar. He presumed that they had reached a point of professionalism, and that if she was approaching him now, it was as a member of Team Rocket with a work-related need or query. If she had something to say, she would say it. And if it was an impersonal matter, he would respond.

At her words, he removed his attention from the guitar and turned apathetic blue eyes on her person. When she posed her concern, though, he turned away with a sigh. This again, was it?

"I speak to you as much as I do anyone else here," he said, voice level. "It's not a matter of who did or didn't do what. It's a job." His expression might have deflated slightly as Claire accused herself, but he failed to notice the change in himself.

"I speak with any personnel that requires my help or my input on work-related matters," he corrected. He might have supplemented that he was pretty good at determining when a matter was work-related before it was even verbally brought up, but he decided the comment was unnecessary.

"I already said. It's not a thing that happened or a thing you did." His volume lowered slightly. "It's a mistake that I made, and a mistake that I've corrected." Another comment he deemed unnecessary was the thought that he would have preferred not to walk this route, or that he wasn't exactly happy with the outcome either. The consequences of the other option, though, were grave enough that he was willing to make sacrifices.

It wasn't something he wanted to admit, and he sighed again. "Getting attached to someone," he replied, albeit grudgingly. He idly plucked at the strings on his guitar, gaze distant. "You were a good friend. I kept to myself for so long that I couldn't even realize that much. What I'm doing now is my last kindness to you, for your protection. You can understand that, right?" For that was the biggest problem: She just didn't seem to understand. Hopefully if he explained it, they could finally - and peaceably - resign themselves to coworker status.

A slight frown, even as he continued to avoid looking at her. "You remember what I said to you? In this hall?" He remembered it, and he took it as a warning that he wasn't aware he was giving at the time, a means of justifying his actions even more than they were already. "The quiet girl who was suddenly afraid of me for no reason? Best friends that either disappeared or started looking at me like I was some kind of monster? Tell me when any of this rings a bell." He couldn't help the bitterness in his voice, being made to recount such unpleasant things for the sake of explaining another unpleasant thing. "Everyone I call a friend is hurt by me. I guess even now, even though I told myself I wouldn't, I've hurt you too." He gave a shrug in an attempt at nonchalance. "You're still a teammate, and I'll still help and protect you any time you need it, but for both our sake's, I think the idea of being friends had ought to be taboo."

He shrugged again - rather than a sign of not caring, as Claire assumed, it was a defense against every emotion he feared would show itself were such measures not taken. "There's more than that. Like the thought that I probably don't deserve a normal life, after everything I've done. Not that I have any hopes of having a 'normal' life, but normal relationships at least..." Well, but that was another matter entirely, and he wouldn't venture any further in that direction unless she pressed it. Quietly, almost inaudibly, he repeated the same note over and over on the guitar, a detached stare locking itself on the molding between the floor and the opposite wall.

"Would you feel that way if your family had been among the ones I killed?" He turned to her now, eyes frigid as he struggled with his own hypothetical situation. "Everyone I killed had a family. They were a mother or a father or a brother or a sister or a son or a daughter or..." He cut himself off with a sigh. "I took their lives into my own two hands and destroyed them. I can bet you anything that the ones they were most important to would disagree with you." He returned his gaze to that arbitrary corner. "I can bet you anything that the rest of the world would disagree with you too."