[He was already thinking about her. He saw the Admiral-or-not-quite announcement a few days ago, imagined how frazzled she must be, how exhausted, after Pietro. But he knows that she will bear up under pressure, because she always does. Because she's Anya, and that's how she functions: by continuing, despite.]
[When he sees her post, he takes it into himself, plays it on repeat over and over from where he's curled up in a dark corner of the library. All the things she says, all the strength she gives to the people on this ship who are more likely than not to lash out at her for what she's saying, the majesty of her. He doesn't think he deserves a sister like this.]
[But he will take advantage of her anyway. That's why he shows up at her door, a bottle of Campari in one hand, vodka in the other, bags under his eyes and a bruise on his temple. His knock is as desolate as knocks can get, a one-two death rattle. He's giving up as soon as his feet get his body inside.]
no subject
[When he sees her post, he takes it into himself, plays it on repeat over and over from where he's curled up in a dark corner of the library. All the things she says, all the strength she gives to the people on this ship who are more likely than not to lash out at her for what she's saying, the majesty of her. He doesn't think he deserves a sister like this.]
[But he will take advantage of her anyway. That's why he shows up at her door, a bottle of Campari in one hand, vodka in the other, bags under his eyes and a bruise on his temple. His knock is as desolate as knocks can get, a one-two death rattle. He's giving up as soon as his feet get his body inside.]