The last few days had been absolute hell. Vaas felt worthless, unable to even fit into his flight suit, his hand naught more than a swollen lump. His pointer, middle, and ring finger of his right hand were all splinted and taped together, and his wrist rendered immobile by a thick cast.
It turns out that breaking out the whiskey as soon as the days work was done was a bad idea. Not to mention the fact that him drinking anything even vaguely alcoholic when he was in a bad mood was a recipe for trouble...
And then there was the genius idea of him introducing his fist to a very sturdy, very stable, and very metallic engine block from some antique someone had asked him to work on. Thus, the splints, tape, and case.
It had all started those few days ago, when he'd voiced his opinion and he and Sparrow had their argument during their little outing. One thing led to another, and he'd severed the mental link that the two of them shared. He'd been too bold, tried to voice a certain feeling he'd had for her for...
Well, quite some time...
He felt like such an idiot. If he hadn't lost his temper and thought things through before severing their link, Sparrow would have been back by now. It'd been three long days since the Pilot Assist program had sent Sparrows last message, and he hadn't heard anything whatsoever. No news, bad or good. Vaas wanted to rip his own hair out.
He was worried. He was scared. And he didn't want that heated conversation he'd had with her to be the last. But he knew, somehow, that she'd be back. If anyone could survive in the wastes, despite a jet crash, alone with no communication with home, it was Sparrow. She was made of some pretty stern stuff, and nothing seemed to keep her down for long.
But that didn't stop the worry. It didn't stop him from staring, worriedly yet intently, into the monitor in front of him, for some sort of signal from her com. His grey eyes, usually holding a perpetual glare as hard as steel, were red and puffy from lack of sleep (and perhaps even a few tears, but he was far too proud to admit that). He hadn't shaved since their fight, this face covered in a dark shadow of a beard. He'd gamely continued to work however he could, despite his temporary disability, as well as not letting on to just how much he hurt inside.
"Jus' come back, Bird Brain.." he mumbled, staring into the screen. "...even if it's just so I c'n apologize to ya. Don'....leave it like this. Please."
