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Rodney got a look from across the room, but Lawr didn't bother to reply, very rarely deigning to respond to sarcasm.

He didn't respond to America either, rolling on the cot to face away from both of them.

They should feel bad for ganging up on him, he thought.

"He made a living conning lonely folks before coming to the island. He tried to kill his first wife and his son, Mikael, when she was leaving him. He did get his daughter Melody killed a couple year back. He killed two people in pods and tried to frame me for it, which near got me executed." It's almost rote now.

"He threatened to harm another hunter on a mission if I wouldn't have sex with him, and went through with that, betraying someone I loved to be tortured and left for dead by an enemy. Apparently he's convinced poor ******** Melvin he can communicate with his dead girlfriend, Rin, but I don't know all the details."

Putting her paperwork away with a sigh, she went on, "He broke my shield in a spar, dragged me out of the barriers, choked me out, then carved into my chest while I was unconscious. He cut off my minipets paw while I was on leave to tell me I shouldn't leave things I care about unprotected. Look," America leaned forward, "he's ******** up in the head. He said you thought everyone can be saved, and he can give you the semblance of a good person, but it won't ever be sincere. It won't last, and the more confidence you put in him now, the more he'll think he'll get away with later."

"Everyone chooses the decisions they make, each day," Rodney said, standing and moving to the middle of the room. "The past can never be repaired. But he's...still responsible for what he does today. And tomorrow. Maybe he...knows the difference it makes, but just hasn't cared what it's done to you. And...Melody. And...Taym, and everyone who's...dead now. Or...who still has to live with it. He's not alone."

He knelt on the floor of the tent. Lawrence had not volunteered anything but justifications.

"When it comes to being saved, yes. I think...anybody, at any point, can make a different choice." He looked at America. "It...shouldn't have happened to you. It shouldn't have happened to anybody."

But it all just kept happening. Everything was hard enough, and to inflict misery and evil when there was already so much suffering... It was people's most basic nature. Rodney didn't think anybody, including himself, was inherently good.

"But I'll still...do whatever I can to help both of you this mission."

Lawrence went from uncomfortable and trying to cut himself off from the situation to progressively more agitated as Rodney spoke, initially irritated by being spoke about in the third person and then irritated by the subject matter. The doctors in his youth had spoke about him as if he wasn't there to his parents and the cold loathing had lingered. It had implications of diminished presence and agency, of imperfection and stupidity. No one stood before god and spoke about him as if he wasn't entirely present or needed to be excused, and if they did they were fools and deserved to be smote down.

He was holding his breath without realising it and exhaled in a sigh.

"It is good to hear you have always thought so highly of me." he said. "Perhaps you should just have been honest from the beginning."

He felt stupid and used, led to almost believe the it was possible to be human, to change and undo the failures he had managed to accrue in his relationship with Maja, to have a clean slate. He pushed it all aside, cold and hollow as always. If the horsewoman wanted Rodney, she could have him, she could teach him that it wasn't always about choices, that sometimes it was about something else, something built in. He moved to face them again, propped up on his bad arm.

"I am also here you know and I object to being talked about like I am NOT." his normally flat tone took the edge of irritation and restlessness he felt.

His eyes moved to the tent exit and he found himself tempted by the outside, even if the sandstorm was out there, it seemed almost preferable to take his chances with the indifferent elements than to stand a moment longer of indignity. But he stayed put on the cot, because he didn't trust himself to move and not to summon Butch who snarled defensively in his mind, agitated by that of his master.

"Oh, quit sulking and come play," America drawled, patting the ground beside her before shuffling the cards.

"You boys know how to play canasta?"

"I do," Rodney said, on the other side of both of them.

He played, but his heart did not seem to be entirely in the game.

The storm seemed to go on forever, and lasted deep into the night, with sand battering terrifyingly against the barriers.



The next day everything had piled up into huge sand drifts, covering equipment. It was almost as bad as snow. Rodney went out in the morning to help clear the dunes. Although he normally liked company and light chatter, he took a reprieve by losing himself in the work. Maintain the camp. Don't get in the way. Follow orders. ...Both America and Lawrence were his superiors. Come home safe. His timidity and light touch when it came to battle did not extend to manual labor. He only came in to reapply suntan lotion that had been sweated off and to stay hydrated.

For patrols, he still felt strongly that nobody should be left alone, at camp or on foot. But at the same time knew he was probably more of a burden than a help. He couldn't fight. He wasn't even sure if he thought of them as the enemy...and it was the same with Lawrence, the same with...his parents. He wanted...everyone to still be okay...

And during the first patrol through the seemingly endless rolls of sand, the ground simply shifted out from under him.

A year ago, the idea that she'd be able to sleep soundly beside Lawrence Weiman would have been laughable, maybe even cause for offense. That she'd allow it simply because he asked while looking pathetic? Even more so. But there was this: America Jones, tactile and physical and so much a part of her own body, hasn't allowed herself prolonged contact in months with the single exception that was Lawrence.

He didn't matter and so she was, very briefly, freed from the worry, the guilt, and the uncertainty that still kept her from those she cared for.

Besides, it was nice to wake up to a presence that had a body. A voice that belonged to the living. Not that he would ever know, not that she didn't shove him off a few minutes after waking.

Morning after a sandstorm meant dozens of things to be uncovered, cleaned, and fixed around the camp and Rodney proved a pleasant surprise in this. They'd managed to get a good deal done before it was time for someone to do a quick route around the area. The instructions she gave were brief and to the point, You see anything or anyone out there, run back to camp. Don't engage, don't ******** try to chat.

The wind carried the sound of his calls, clear enough to have her running in the right direction.

Lawrence had not been in a good mood during the card game, he had not been in a good mood afterwards either. When they collectively to bed he was cold and exhausted and there was nothing in the way of his inclination to ask for a warm place to sleep. Butch in his thoughts fell silent as though respecting the sanctity of a cathedral when he was given the affirmative.

He slept well and soundly for what was possibly the first time in a long time and did not so much as complain when he was pushed out half asleep and not sure where he was.

His mood the next day was better, he was able to get away from Rodney and the weight of his expectations with the storm gone and settled to alternately sitting in the sun and in the shade like a reptile warming its body temperature. He skipped breakfast of course and did no manual labour of much help to anyone, when he did try to lend a bit of help, he felt a little woozy and opted to be moral support instead. No one seemed to mind, he reckoned.

When Rodney didn't come back after a patrol and America vanished after him he initially read a little more of his book and took advantage of the calm weather and the sunhat he'd brought. It was only when time marched on a little too far and he found himself discussing with Butch the possibility that if everyone died they'd have to explain why to H and possibly lose another persona due to innocent stupidity that he finally decided to go and see where everyone went. He knew the general direction and took his time, stopping now and then to have a sip of water or to read a little.

He almost stumbled into the pit that Rodney was in as he went but stopped just short of the edge, moving to his knees to look in.

It was a scene uncannily familiar to him, and he thought for just a moment that maybe he should have mentioned to the other man to watch his step.

"Rodney?" he asked. "Are you all right?" Of course, being Lawrence, he hadn't brought a rope or anything else of much use to get someone out of a hole.

"I erm." he said. "Should I go get America?"