First of all, he just doesn't feel like he actually gets to do them often enough. His last memory of his Uncle is of the look on his face when Peter basically accused him of being a shitty parent, not an adequate substitute for the people he'd lost. He hadn't said goodbye to his mom and dad, his dad had just said "be good", and it's only recently that he realized yeah, they did actually love him. They didn't want to leave.
And Gwen-
Anyway. He's not good at them.
So he sees Bond's post, and his throat goes tight. He knows he should say something, ask if he can come find him, but he just kind of forgets how to speak for a good fifteen minutes, and instead just stares at his communicator.
Bond's been a lot of things for him. A pain in the ass, a responsibility, an annoying, super old baby to sit, but also a friend, maybe even a mentor, and it's not fair to think this, but he doesn't want to let go of that. Not again.
At least he's not dead. He'll be going home, and hopefully, he'll stay alive. After all, he's James Bond.
When the knock comes, he knows who it is before he answers the door, and he tries to open it in a way so Bond doesn't have to see the mess he's made of his bedroom walls. He still hasn't taken the collage of notes and pictures and clues. He's not sure why. (To torture himself? Probably.)]
Hey. [He tries - tries - to look something close to normal, but he still looks too hollow eyed to really make it work.] I saw- I was going to come find you.
no subject
First of all, he just doesn't feel like he actually gets to do them often enough. His last memory of his Uncle is of the look on his face when Peter basically accused him of being a shitty parent, not an adequate substitute for the people he'd lost. He hadn't said goodbye to his mom and dad, his dad had just said "be good", and it's only recently that he realized yeah, they did actually love him. They didn't want to leave.
And Gwen-
Anyway. He's not good at them.
So he sees Bond's post, and his throat goes tight. He knows he should say something, ask if he can come find him, but he just kind of forgets how to speak for a good fifteen minutes, and instead just stares at his communicator.
Bond's been a lot of things for him. A pain in the ass, a responsibility, an annoying, super old baby to sit, but also a friend, maybe even a mentor, and it's not fair to think this, but he doesn't want to let go of that. Not again.
At least he's not dead. He'll be going home, and hopefully, he'll stay alive. After all, he's James Bond.
When the knock comes, he knows who it is before he answers the door, and he tries to open it in a way so Bond doesn't have to see the mess he's made of his bedroom walls. He still hasn't taken the collage of notes and pictures and clues. He's not sure why. (To torture himself? Probably.)]
Hey. [He tries - tries - to look something close to normal, but he still looks too hollow eyed to really make it work.] I saw- I was going to come find you.
[That's true, at least.]