He weeps, and she lets him. Clouds give way to rain when there is too much, too much to hold. Tears come down much the same, she's found, now that she can cry and understand the world that way. A ward against utter collapse, one's chest giving way under the force of it all. There's logic she could dispense - that one of the others could be in charge, that there might be someone willing to take it over who already lives out here, that he doesn't have to be here - but it doesn't matter when he feels like he has to take it upon his shoulders, because it has to be done. It should have been Radar's choice, instead of his obligation, but is there a substitute that would make him truly feel like it'll be handled? This, Fever doesn't know.

Somehow, they'll manage. They'll improvise and make it up while they go along.

It's not fair that people can withdraw from your life as easily as they can insert themselves, that you're left with another gap, another headstone, another face that will slowly wear away with time. (It's not fair that home for Radar is another world away, that one day this will all end, and goodbyes will have to be said - but none of that now.)

What she does know is to to stay where she is. Shading him from the relentless sun, keeping the uncertain shapes of the dark off his back. Witness to his grief, shielding the shape of his sorrow from unfriendly eyes. She's got him. Walter O'Reilly isn't being left to manage alone.