It hardly seems fair that Gaeta should be so worried, when he himself disappeared for two whole months earlier this year. And he couldn't even blame that on the return of one of his literal worst nightmares, either. He tries, with effort, to be patient through the silences; tries to meet Francis where he's at during the few stilted conversations they have by sending stone. He needs time. That should be easy enough for Gaeta to give.
(Though when he realizes, like a dull kick to the ribs, that one of the quietest days fell on what should be Gaeta's 30th birthday, after one recalculates the Colonial calendar to match Marrow Isle's --
Well. It's not like he ever cared much about it anyway. Doubly so when Mulcahy is doing so poorly.
Still, though.)
He abandons everything when Peter finally finds him, racing as fast as he can to Mulcahy's house. As soon as he hears the noises inside -- shit. Shit. He pounds on the door and calls out, "Francis?", though who the frak knows if any of it is audible over the crashes and thuds.
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(Though when he realizes, like a dull kick to the ribs, that one of the quietest days fell on what should be Gaeta's 30th birthday, after one recalculates the Colonial calendar to match Marrow Isle's --
Well. It's not like he ever cared much about it anyway. Doubly so when Mulcahy is doing so poorly.
Still, though.)
He abandons everything when Peter finally finds him, racing as fast as he can to Mulcahy's house. As soon as he hears the noises inside -- shit. Shit. He pounds on the door and calls out, "Francis?", though who the frak knows if any of it is audible over the crashes and thuds.