A/N: Bit of an experimental, stream-of-consciousness thing with Leo after Kendrix's death, because grief is hard.
I don't own, never will.
He's had the night to figure out what to do. He hasn't slept, not sure if anyone else has either for that matter. The night had been the perfect cover for him, but now it's morning and it doesn't herald a new beginning.
Kendrix is dead.
Terra Venture continues to spin somewhere out in space and it doesn't mean a thing to him anymore because Kendrix is dead.
He's had the night to figure out what to do. He hasn't.
The Mountain Dome is empty of all people, always is really, and today the goliath mounds of rock and soil seem more like craters than anything else, cavernous and upside down.
His world is upside down.
He hasn't slept.
Walking steadily through the scenery, taking steps that each seem to him like titanic falls into the earth, Leo paces onwards. He isn't going anywhere in particular.
The ache inside of him is hollow, but he can still feel it. He wants to walk until he can no longer feel it.
He finds himself the David to Goliath, standing still at the foot of the tallest mountain in the dome, looking up at its magnificence. It doesn't awe him, it doesn't scare him. It doesn't do anything but make him angry.
He stands up close to where he can touch the jagged armour of the mountain, its edifice of dirt fragile and crumbling in his fingers.
The dirt falls to the ground. It is that easy to disturb the exterior of something, but to destroy its foundation is impossible.
Leo clenches his hand into a fist, the remnants of dirt marking his skin. He pulls his fist back and holds it, trembling at his side, hesitating but not for the fear of pain to come. He is not a destroyer, though he knows he cannot destroy what will stand forever.
He doesn't care.
Releasing his fist he crashes it into the mountain, burrows it deep inside the protective layers of hardened soil. Sits it there, the pain agonising but not enough.
He screams, loud and primal, unrestrained. He screams until there is nothing left.
Kendrix is dead.
Echoes of his own making fill the dome. This place is not empty anymore.
There is blood in rivulets across his fingers when he pulls his fist out. The dirt is everywhere now.
He wipes his hand on his singlet, the red blood matching and dissolving, the dirt leaving grey smudges to be seen again and again.
He's had the night to figure out what to do. It's morning now. He doesn't know what to do.