He explores Earth.
He has no idea in retrospect what pushed him to suggest losing the tech. No conscious idea. But somewhere deep down he knows it was selfish. No tech, no comms, no way to save him, to contact him, to draw him away from this path. He's going to walk the verdant plains, stroll the dense forests, cross lines of glittering water, run run run.
Alone.
Because just as deep down he knew then that she was done. Her mysterious disappearance was a shock on the outside. The inside was a grim, bitter satisfaction of being right.
So he goes. Far and wide. Away. With only the phantom of her presence for company.
He talks to her sometimes. Only sometimes. She never answers because she isn't there but sometimes he likes to pretend she responds anyway. If only while his fingers stroke languidly up and down his cock and he imagines it's her hand instead, her mouth, the wet heat of her pussy. His imagination is good, fevered, the sound of her husky laugh egging it on, spurring it forth.
"Come on, come for me, flyboy," she whispers sometimes and there's soft grass below his bare skin, fiery sun above it and her nails graze down his abdomen before her palm glides to cup his balls, her fingertips resting loosely on the base of his cock. "Come hard. Say my name." And that's when she wrenches "Kara" out of him, her slightly roughened, warm fingers wrapping around him where he needs them most, up down, up down, slip slide, "Oh Gods." Sometimes her mouth follows, with firm, sweltering pressure, her tongue flicking teasingly and occasionally her teeth nipping just lightly, never to pain but always enough to remind him that she's dangerous. Not that he ever forgets that.
It's rare, too too rare when she rises above him and he feels the strong, tough muscles flexing under the tender skin of her thighs and that's when he doesn't respond anymore, not with coherence, not with anything but pure animal sound because she's all around him and now he's filling her and is full himself somehow, full to the bursting. "You like that, Apollo? Maybe I'm the real god around here," she teases throatily.
He always comes before she goes. Before he admits again that she's not really there. Comes, his body shuddering head to toe with a fire that starts behind his closed eyelids and spreads all over in thick, winding tendrils. She says a lot of things as he comes, "That's right. Oh yeah. Come for me, baby." She never says 'I love you.' But he hears it anyway.
And the sky above him is blue.
Blue.