(no subject)
He knows he must have looked like a complete imbecile, when the Captain found him in the cargo bay. He's still not completely sure he isn't, to be honest. He knows plenty of things, to be true... he knows the ways of fire, how to make it obey him, sing and dance for him, fight on his behalf. He knows how to make people believe him, whatever he chooses to say. He knows how to hide, and how to run, and just enough to get by. But in the end, he doesn't know the answer to what he feels might be the most important question of all: He doesn't know what he wants.
He's not even sure where he's going. He just knows that when he stowed away, he wanted to keep moving. He's not running from Niska, anymore, or from the Alliance ... he's long stopped thinking they care about finding him, or they would have, by now. He knows he's a minnow in a very, very big 'Verse of a pond, and there are catfish more worth angling for. He's not really running, either - more of a state of constant motion, always flickering around like the flames he's so fond of. It isn't that he hasn't found a place he likes. Several of the planets he's touched down on - some of them more than once - have been lovely, fine places to try and make a home. He just doesn't feel like home is a thing he can have - he's spent so long without one that he almost believes it, too. So when the Captain invites him back onto Aldrich, gives him a room of his own with a pair of bunks and a closet, four walls, a floor, and a ceiling with a somewhat creaky vent in it, he's not sure what to do with himself. Eventually, he strings up a hammock in the corner, since it feels much less permanent than a bunk, somehow. Takes the mattresses off, stores them underneath, and uses the bunks for shelf storage. He puts a few scraps of old rugs on the floor, drapes some chimes from the ceiling so that when the air comes through the vents, he can try to imagine he's outside. He buys a small ivy plant, and tends to it until it begins to crawl around the framework of the bunks. Doc makes fun of him for it, tells him he's turning the ship into a gorram jungle, but he tries to let most of what the rest of the crew says roll off his back like rain. Eir tells him it's nice, but that he should grow something more practical - and then spends an hour instructing him in medicinal plants for burns. He tunes most of it out, since Greenleaf had held knowledge enough of that sort of thing, and contents himself with idly following the twist of the vines with his eyes. Mike doesn't really say much one way or another, and he's somewhat glad for that - he still can't look at the Captain's second-in-command without thinking of how they met, staring down the barrel of his gun. Every now and then, though, Andy will come in and pull up a seat on his bottom bunk, just sit for a spell and chat with him. He doesn't mind that, in the least - nor does he mind, somehow, that the Captain's the only one who talks to him. ... More like talks at him.
"You don't say much, do ya, Collin," she muses, once, after telling him an entire evening's worth of stories and sharing a bottle of whiskey with him.
"I suppose not." He shrugs. "I don't really have the same sort of things to say."
"What'cha mean?"
"You .... you and the crew all know so much more about war, and the Alliance, and conflict. I saw enough of it to know it's not for me. ... I guess that makes me your black sheep."
"Just fer that," Andy snickers, "if I ever had a farm again, I'd get one'a them black sheep and name it Soot. After you."
"... my name's Ember," he corrects her, quietly.
"Yeah, I know. Same sorta thing." She grins. "C'mon, Collin, lighten up. All that fire you toss around, you could manage a little light."
He smiles, just a little. "I guess it's worth a try."
"Attaboy." She gathers up her almost-empty bottle, and claps a hand on his shoulder so she can get to her feet. "I ain't gonna say you gotta come outta that shell of yours right now, but ... I wouldn't mind seein' how ya bloom, one'a these days."
For a minute, he thinks about reminding her she's mixing metaphors, but then again, there's the whiskey to account for, so he just smiles a bit more. "I'll think about it."