@nomadshield asked for a starter from amos / expanse.
      It wasnât something he advertised. It wasnât something he talked about, not with the crew of the Roci, not even Naomi. Some things were just his. Just for him. And to be honest, with everybody in the universe looking to take one or all of the crew out for one reason or another, it was safer that way. It was easier this way.
   He didnât let himself think about that part. He thumbed in the access code, ignoring that tiny wriggle of anxiety, that hint of nervousness that always lingered that maybe, this time, it wouldnât work. Changed the locks. Moved on. Moved out. Premises vacated. The smile was faint, a flicker, when the door to Steveâs apartment slid open, a low chime announcing his arrival.  âAnybody home?â Â
   He wasnât the type to call ahead. Either Steve was home, or he was out -- if it was the last one, Amos wasnât inclined to intrude or interrupt whatever business, personal or professional, that Rogers was dealing with. The smile returned, creeping faintly at the corners of his mouth as Steve came into view, and Amos shrugged off the duffel slung over a shoulder, dropping it with a solid thump to the floor of the Tychos station suite.  âStill in one piece, then, huh.â