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“I wanna talk shop—“ He said in much the same way a man might unwillingly offer his neck for the chopping block, but also as if he only had all of five minutes to spare before he would be begging to be distracted from whatever impending thing loomed sharply above his own imaginings.

He briefly wondered if this was how he’d made poor Ilmari feel after that last mission? Some level of useless, some measure of untrusted to handle the finer aspects of a thing —

Being out of my own wheelhouse, not that I wanna ******** look at *that* too closely— He thought sourly, because truthfully? He didn’t, introspection was a many-teethed trap and once he started — well — he’d always found it was better to talk himself breathless to audiences that offered no real insight, to wind himself verbally into a choke hold until the answers, obvious, myriad, but obvious nonetheless, concluded themselves somewhere amidst his ramblings.

But then there was this, a massive mystery storm brewing overhead, and Aelius’s (now Cassian Yarrow) case of abduction to handle and smooth out (Grieves to shank — sun loving four winged bitches to pluck — and the high as the atmosphere and static charged as the DC air chance that they were all in some way compromised, or ********, that he was?!), and trouble always came in sets of threes (his personal, superstitious belief) so of course Waru was waiting for some third, horrid, s**t covered shoe to drop.

“Briefly, Adam…just…briefly, ******** — *tsk* — don’t gimme that look, kay? I’m trying to— or…I want to try? Just not with an audience.” He blew out huffily, half chewed thoughts without establishing a clear ‘why’ for any of them. Because he felt Adam was more than audience enough for this? Because Adam also wouldn’t kid-glove him, or sympathy smile in his direction, or —

He didn’t want to stress Faustite further. To hound Cassian with questions when his boy was already gonna be fielding so many. When they both had things bigger but also not atop this all to muddle through. And he knew he would get lost in the whites of Emmys couch and how it contrasted so perfectly with her everything before he ever got his words sorted out....

The point wasn’t to be a strain on the people he loved over minor things, or to steal the spotlight from his lovely subordinates, and they were killing it in every sense; stepping up and showing out and— Gods, but he wasn’t sure if it was normal to be this proud while also feeling a step behind? To feel inadequate on some minor level all his own imagining. As if he couldn’t properly foster Jayces clear-as-day hunger or balance Baz’s shining intellect.

‘I’ve never been more glad for the rest of the team in my entire life.’ The thought was both familiar and warming for how often he leaned on it like a safety net. To be able to — for once — practice what he preached as he watched the others graft and meld to one another as needed.

For Adam right now, especially. Because if he had a terrible, off track, asinine idea? If ever there was anyone who’d say it aloud and re-rail his off-track train….Okay, there were several people, really. But Adam was the ‘people’ he was choosing to burden with this particular service right now. He even thought the man might get something out of doing it besides an ego-kick.

Waru damn well intended to—-

His eyes traced the ball like they were tethered to it as he watched it rise and fall effortlessly up and then back into Adam's hand. It was a little mesmerizing to say the least, and so if it took him a moment to pick up on Adams acquiescence to giving him his time to run his mouth—

Grinning with a wry sort of appreciation even as he started to pace, short strides, tiny figure eights, his hands picking up where his voice left off. Speaking with his body as much as his mouth as was his usual. “The message from Laurelite is a ******** —“ he seethed briefly, knew they’d all gotten it — that trouble coming in threes like he’d feared it would. It was a lot to handle, the back, to back, to back news delivered their way with concussive force via tech rather than in person as he would’ve liked it to be. “I like *her*—“ As if he wanted to defend himself from some ridiculous doubts; as if liking her or not would ever be the issue. Even though he truly did, beyond the sex on legs, ghost in the shell, powerful woman motif. He liked Laurels, no matter how terrifying an essence she radiated. He did. Truly. He was down to bow and heed, but this most recent thing? “but I don’t like *this*—“

He wondered if he should’ve asked someone for clarification, looking Adam over like maybe he would. As if the man could clip away his ******** confusion with sharp assurety and easy to follow sentences.

“And they had them, yanno? In Ei’s message to us — the newest one on the tablet — and gods there’s so much on the tablets — but they had them, Adam!“ His frustration bled through, because the storm had been this quick thing, an hour of bedlam, he hadn’t even noticed Cassian or Fauatite missing, “Some of those ********, at least the one you mentioned? And now she’s hurt Cassian, and Syrus, and Jayce—“ and he did stall in his short-winding circuit as he tersely clipped over the names of people important to him; as though he hadn’t ordered them into the fray himself knowing damn well the risks.

The ones they’d needed to take to get Cassian back—

That didn’t make it rankle his nerves any less, to have needed to make that choice, to know the people who’d wronged them had gotten away. That they kept getting away? He thought of Encke; a mixed a** bag of ******** and he was putting that s**t away for another time.

“I’m just saying.…if it’d been me? I would’ve stuck my hand in at least one of their chests. All this ‘playing nice’ ********—“ He knew the circumstances had been, what was the word? Exhausting? Extenuating? Whatever! And that, gods, it didn’t seem like ******** had been working well enough for them to have wasted the attempt. That ‘trying’ would’ve been a useless endeavor altogether. He understood he might’ve had the luxury to be reckless by the grace of others covering his entire a**, but that didn’t mean everyone else did.

Knowing that didn’t make any of what was going on any less frustrating to him though. The way he felt that emotion so keenly alongside the slow-burbling anger in his chest (for himself, for the others, and he couldn’t fathom how it must’ve been for Aelius and Faustite to be a hair's-breadth away and unable to do anything about it!), and ********, it wasn’t as if he knew where to put it all!

“The four-winged, sun-b***h at least…” He narrowed his eyes at something beyond Adam’s shoulder, bore his teeth at a figment unseen. How it ******** galled him to have been deprived the faces of these people, their names, a clearer path that involved higher thought and legit detectivework. Tasks best put to the rest of the team. “I won’t not do it *now* just because we’re being asked to use — what — logic and reason?” He said it clearly, with bite, and he didn’t think Faustite would hold it against him, he didn’t think anyone truly would; already he was running through an itemized list of ‘ifs’, because what Laurelite didn’t know? What the other sovereigns were not aware of? It wasn’t like they’d *feel it* if someone playing against their side accidentally tripped over a curb in front of a semi-truck and *died*! It’d happen quickly, cleanly, in a closed casket kinda way, and then nobody who knew things would be curious enough to check the ‘chest’ and find the treasure buried inside stolen. Afterall? Starseeds were floaty as ******** and fragile too! There were space-shepherds for them—

“To hold court with our enemies.” Was he whining now? ********, he might’ve been whining, that pitch definitely felt whine-ish. “But to also — just — not play too nice?” Because he wanted someone to make it make sense! Craved black and white for this and this alone, because anything less left margins for error within him. Left gaping chasms labeled ‘failure to obey’, and he’d always tried not to! At least, not in some directly obstinate way…

“I’m a terrible liar is the problem…so I can’t just go around being all ‘espionage’ about s**t…I’m not gonna suddenly ‘nice’ at the people who’ve wronged me and ‘mean’ at the ones who haven’t in some weird kinda shakedown for info or…or whatever this is…” Did he even want the info? Did the info even matter? Eion had sent pictures too, and staring too hard at a language that looked like scrawling, unintelligible code made his eyes cross so hard he thought he could hear smoke and taste burnt toast. It was laughable to even have tried..

“And maybe — maybe I’m not good for — ah — for any of this?” A breath that bled into another thought. To him looking back at Adam earnestly, with a partial plea for confirmation from a higher mind. “Maybe you all need actual hammers, instead of real convenient bricks? Course…if that’s the case…” He had to make sure of things, for his own peace of mind, if he knew that he had really given the team his all? Then it wouldn’t hurt so much to accept that he needed step back until called upon. Because if there was any chance he could recognize something useful for them…be of use to them…even as just a brick? “Then I want to make sure, which means going over your list you were working on again…n’this new space-s**t, but — with you first, okay? For ********, Cass.”

For everyone, yes. But Cassian especially.