"Trauma."
Jonah lifted his head from Vykan's chest. The Elite had been quiet all night, contemplative. He peered down at Jonah with cold honesty.
"Trauma is why I act as I do," He continued. He paused to card his hand through Jonah's hair. "When I voiced my opposition to the Prophets, to the Great Journey, when I became a 'heretic', I wasn't just ostracized. I was stripped of my titles and beaten by everyone I had ever loved. Brothers in arms, my wives, my friends. Most of these scars aren't from your Marines but are from my own kin. It is difficult to be the domineering leader you once were after so much trauma."
"I'll build up your confidence. Brick by brick," Jonah swore, his gaze intense. "The Marines are finally taking to you. I'm sure you'll just be another fella on call in no time."
Vykan smiled though it didn't reach his eyes. When Jonah kissed along one of his mandibles, he leaned into the contact and tightened his grip on the Spartan's waist.
"I pray that day will come."
