Jor spent much of his time in the observation lounge, staring blindly at the passing stars, although the sight was wasted on him, as he rarely noticed what he was looking at. It was merely a means to pass his time alone, for stars did not ask him questions about the faded bruises on his fists and the golden ring upon his finger, and he could have been staring at a blank wall for all he cared. Caring was something that he wasn't too terribly concerned with, not anymore, and as the days passed Jor did not care for talk or comfort or companionship.

But while asleep, in his dreams, he cared for Wick.

Thoughts of her tortured him, and the further from her he traveled, the harder it became to silence his memories. They left him cold and broken in his bunk at night, and when morning came he resolved, each time, to stop remembering. He hoped that perhaps someday he wouldn't have to think of her at all.

For now, he did his best to forget. When that was impossible, he did his best not to care. Even if I had stayed, Wick, it wouldn't matter. You wouldn't want me, not after what I did. Not after what you did.

Justification soothed his pain, anger eased his sense of loss, and slowly, Jor began to learn how to lie to himself.

Lies let him live, let him reason away his love and his loss, and he grew to depend upon them. He created a new image of himself in the face of all his lies, and it was like the old Jor, the way he had been before he'd ever met Wick. He became arrogant and cold and apathetic, forgetting the love and devotion that used to feed his rage, and instead finding his strength from hate. He grew callous and cruel, and learned to use his words and his anger like a knife, rather than a fist. The other passengers avoided him, for he had nothing but sharp dismissals and cutting comments for them, and for every pain he caused in someone else, a little of his own pain lifted.

In the space of one month, Jor did his best to wipe away the influence of the last six years, and when he stepped from the transport into the hold of Elisabeta Outpost, he felt like a new man.

It's my life now, and only mine. No one to care for, no one to hold me back. I can do anything I want.

It should have been an exhilarating thought, but for a moment his face fell, his eyes tired and his spirit broken, and Jor wished for the tiny hand that should have been held in his.