#* john robinson.

          // @doctorobinson​ sent,  ❝ moments like this are what i imagine heaven to be like . ❞

          Quiet settles in the wake of makeshift celebrations, yet the laughter forced to keep at bay the ever-heavy reminders of their predicament still rings hollow upon his ears. Yet it’s quiet, and peaceful ( for all the winds that howl and waves that beat upon the narrow shore ), and the weight of her leans against his shoulder, and he understands, understands more than he can put words to. 

          John glances down at her, eyebrows raised. With effort, he keeps a smile at bay.    ❛ Really? Your heaven is methane atmospheres and barren beaches without a blade of green in sight. ❜    For a moment, he considers prolonging the joke, suggesting that they need never have boarded the Resolute, need never have left Earth. After all their travails, however, he doesn’t have the heart for it; it hits too close to home, to doubts for which they can have no space. They are here, and here they must be, no second guessing and no remorse for what might otherwise have been.