Amos was well aware of how strange it was for someone who lived and worked in space to have this deeply-seated fear of the darkness. But there was almost never real darkness in space. Their vac suits had lights built into the helmets, every ship and station was brightly lit, and even when the engines and reactors were turned off there were still the red and purple safety lights that glowed across every surface. The last time he had been in true darkness had been when he'd been wandering around with Peaches. And then he'd had her.
Maybe it was, in part, the storm too. The rushing water reminded him of Illus, which reminded me of being trapped in that tight, dark cave with those weird slugs and rapidly dwindling resources. Illus had reminded him of Baltimore. It all went round and round and circled endlessly back on itself.
The last place he wanted to be, though, was in his own bedroom. He'd wandered far enough to get to the lobby and to one of the big fireplaces, quickly sparking it to life, and then found a corner where he could tuck his back against the wall and see everything around him. The fire cast just enough light out into the room to make it seem endless from that position. There was darkness, but it was all the way over there and he didn't need to worry about it.
He'd been rolling his pin between his fingers as he sat there, trying not to use his comms if he didn't have to, so he could conserve the battery, when he heard footsteps approaching and looked up to see the man with the sunglasses. Well. At least the dark wasn't much of an issue for him. "It's good," Amos said, though it was very obviously not good. His voice was flat and a little distant. Empty was the word that Holden used a lot. And that was usually when the crew started to worry, but the crew wasn't there right now. He could have used Holden's voice then. Or Peaches' sense of humor. Or Naomi's warm hands.
He didn't make any effort to get up, just drew his long legs in against his chest so Matt could get past if he wanted.