“Yeah well...I guess when you’ve done what I have, the name sticks.” He said absently, stopping along the path as she walked on “You could all be dead. Would you like to blame the fact that you’re not on yourself as well?” He didn’t move, more than happy to talk to her back. Words didn’t need eyes to be heard, and faces needn’t be seen to know their reactions. The statement was meant to challenge her. Self-pity is just fine when you have a nice couch, chocolate ice cream, and some random tv show to curl up to. Out here, it was death on a stick. The perfect excuse for the subconscious to “make a mistake” that got a person dead.<br/><br/>He didn’t know if she was that far along, but he knew she was in need of at least an ear. “Hey…I have a Pilates class at 8, but if you want to talk, I can stick around. The instructor’s hot, but she can do without me oogling for one class.” He waited, not pushy, and not needy. He was the tree, rooted, strong and dependable. He used that natural element of himself on her. Confidence without bravado, and an ear that didn’t leak. He wanted the people to trust him, and he felt that a little time could do them both some good.<br/><br/>“I’m okay where I am, anyway…I’m feeling less than a third wheel…kinda like the spare in the trunk that never gets used until something goes wrong”<br/>