The Freelancer brushes Frank's apology off with a low grunt, shaking his head slightly. "It's fine," the gesture says. "Forget it." Not Frank's fault that he looks like... Well. That he looks like a fucking ghost.
Maybe it would help if Maine explained his reaction, but the idea of doing so doesn't even cross the big man's mind. He doesn't talk about those he's lost. Ever. Not even when someone who looks like he could be a dead relative is sitting right beside him.
Dark eyes stay locked on the fire as Maine breathes past lingering emotions. As he finishes pushing them down until the tension ebbs from his frame. It doesn't take long; he's had years of practice.
When Frank mentions someone else explaining shit, Maine lifts one broad shoulder in a slight shrug. It's a little harder for the Freelancer to dismiss the possibility of "different versions" after seeing Frank. And, when Frank explains the origin of the dogs' names, Maine's quick latch onto the topic.
"2547," he says with a little gesture to himself. It's the year that he's from, though that may not be clear until he asks, "Year?"
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Maybe it would help if Maine explained his reaction, but the idea of doing so doesn't even cross the big man's mind. He doesn't talk about those he's lost. Ever. Not even when someone who looks like he could be a dead relative is sitting right beside him.
Dark eyes stay locked on the fire as Maine breathes past lingering emotions. As he finishes pushing them down until the tension ebbs from his frame. It doesn't take long; he's had years of practice.
When Frank mentions someone else explaining shit, Maine lifts one broad shoulder in a slight shrug. It's a little harder for the Freelancer to dismiss the possibility of "different versions" after seeing Frank. And, when Frank explains the origin of the dogs' names, Maine's quick latch onto the topic.
"2547," he says with a little gesture to himself. It's the year that he's from, though that may not be clear until he asks, "Year?"