Riley allowed his thoughts to drift, didn’t bother to hide them from McClane. His passenger seemed happy to hang out with him and soak up his mental ramblings. He kept quiet for the most part, a warm, contented presence at the back of Riley’s awareness. Riley could actually feel him when he focused on it, the occasional tingle along his nerve endings, a whisper of a touch here and there, like a shirt felt and then unfelt.

It was oddly relaxing to sit and drink and get used to company again.

It reminded Riley of sharing space with Misha, lazing on the couch wrapped up in each other with nowhere in particular to go and nothing to do. Riley missed that most of all, the undemanding closeness Misha had offered, the generous, unthinking tactility that sometimes turned sexual but mostly was simply about being together. Misha hadn’t been able to keep his hands off Riley, had always brushed against him, slipped an arm around Riley’s waist, rested his chin on Riley’s shoulder cheek to cheek so their breaths mingled. And Riley, who’d never been this intimate with anybody before, mostly because his personal space bubble was about twice the size of other people’s, had been surprised by how comfortable he was with it. It should’ve made his skin crawl, but instead he’d gotten to crave those little signs of affection, even more so because he had such a hard time initiating them. He hadn’t expected to have that again, not with anyone, least of all an alien who’d ambushed him and climbed into his body without permission.

Life or death situation, McClane reminded him, almost too softly for Riley to pick up. He flexed along Riley’s back in a slow rhythm that felt a lot less disturbing than Riley would’ve imagined. I am sorry, you know.

Liar, Riley thought back, but without rancor. Couldn’t fault someone for doing what needed doing in order to survive. When the chips were down, it was everyone for themselves; Riley knew that better than most.

Friends, family… they were great, as long as things went smoothly. It was when the going got rough that you realized whom you could count on, and it was generally a pretty sobering tally. Getting close to people, allowing yourself to become vulnerable, carried more potential for hurt than riding a bucking bull. At least with the bull, if you managed a good ride, you got paid in the end. Relationships just fucked you up, then left you bleeding in the dust. Easier to go it alone.

That’s a depressing attitude, McClane remarked, sounding a little taken aback by Riley’s philosophy. The kneading stopped briefly then picked up again along his shoulders, working on the tension that had crept into Riley’s muscles.