[Looking back, he'd never really known what to do either -- he'd just known that he had something more than the last time he'd been faced with things like this, death and inexplicable and horrible choices and losing every last thing he'd ever had. He'd had to do something.

Even if it was just fighting against not knowing what to do. Blindly, perhaps fruitlessly. He couldn't do nothing.

It would probably have gone better, if he'd been better at giving up.

Lenka does raise his head a little at Lance's non-sequitur, blinking brief and slow as he tries to process this sudden jump to point T. It's not unfamiliar, though, in dark times. He thinks about it for a moment.]

... I wouldn't make you carry my God Arc.

[Is it his very oblique and deadeyed way of calling Lance a noodle? Who knows.]