Ah shit. Raylan was freaking out. Well they can't both be freaking out. What're they going to do? Well that depends on how long they're going to be down here, won't it? Doc let go and raises his hand, flexing it, mumbling a quiet apology as he pulls his hand back, keeps it to himself and does a 180 straight back the way they came from. He's walking briskly now, with purpose, back the way they came from or at least he thinks he is but really he just ends up following Raylan because he's not too sure himself. Nothing looks familiar in the dark.
When they get back to a more open area, Doc clicks his torch off and holsters it, thinking maybe he should conserve the battery since Raylan's using his. He starts pacing, back and forth like a restless dog. He's got matches. Cigarettes. They could start a fire to keep warm if they need to. Won't be easy with no kindling though, and the pieces of the ladder are too damp from being used to hang clothes to burn properly. There's water, somewhere. They'd be fine for. Days. Are they gonna be here for days? Shit. What if there are spores. Just floating down the tunnels like in the museum. Are they gonna eat each other? Jesus H Christ.
He doesn't realise he's panting hard and pressing the heels of his palms right up against his eyes until he starts dragging his hands down his face, pausing with his hands covering his moustache and mouth. He doesn't have to worry about not being able to do this if they die here. But that might take longer than he would like.
His hands slide down over his back pockets. Maybe they should have pressed on. Nobody's coming. Nobody's even- looking. Doc starts heading back towards the three way fork in the path. He thought he might have said something aloud through all of this. He didn't. It's just stress popping off a dozen disparate thoughts in his head. He can't stay focused on working towards a way out. He's worried about Malcolm. And who's going to check on Ellie? And those books are going to be very overdue. And Lord have mercy on whoever goes into 1307 if they've never tried to make moonshine before.
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When they get back to a more open area, Doc clicks his torch off and holsters it, thinking maybe he should conserve the battery since Raylan's using his. He starts pacing, back and forth like a restless dog. He's got matches. Cigarettes. They could start a fire to keep warm if they need to. Won't be easy with no kindling though, and the pieces of the ladder are too damp from being used to hang clothes to burn properly. There's water, somewhere. They'd be fine for. Days. Are they gonna be here for days? Shit. What if there are spores. Just floating down the tunnels like in the museum. Are they gonna eat each other? Jesus H Christ.
He doesn't realise he's panting hard and pressing the heels of his palms right up against his eyes until he starts dragging his hands down his face, pausing with his hands covering his moustache and mouth. He doesn't have to worry about not being able to do this if they die here. But that might take longer than he would like.
His hands slide down over his back pockets. Maybe they should have pressed on. Nobody's coming. Nobody's even- looking. Doc starts heading back towards the three way fork in the path. He thought he might have said something aloud through all of this. He didn't. It's just stress popping off a dozen disparate thoughts in his head. He can't stay focused on working towards a way out. He's worried about Malcolm. And who's going to check on Ellie? And those books are going to be very overdue. And Lord have mercy on whoever goes into 1307 if they've never tried to make moonshine before.