Javik was at peace with standing in the hold, thinking little at all about nothing in particular. There was a newfound familiarity to it- the soft hum of the console above him, a muted glow from lights that were never meant to be permanent. Thoughts flew through his head, none of them pressing. He was content.

Everything in the room had an essence, a life, and he took comfort in that. It was a positive sentiment that reminded him of things from his own cycle when the only other thing he had in common with the current was a Reaper invasion.

An invasion he was tasked to stop.

But such matters seemed trivial now, and he returned to more reassuring thoughts.

He did, however, continue to observe the room, a habit he never tired of. Considering the amount of time he had spent with his own thoughts like this, he felt he knew the crew on an intimate level. A feeling that, recently, has become amplified. There was certainly something to this cycle that his did not possess, and it intrigued him more than disgusted him now. For an anachronism, he felt a belonging tug at him, one that replaced the constant reminder of his own failures. He embraced it.

There was a time, not too long ago, where he was not at peace. It seemed like an eternity to him now, and thinking back, he found he never had been so appeased. He had important things to do, important things to accomplish, things he thought he would never give up on. It had been running and fighting from day one, but those times seemed so faded, almost nonexistent. His one use for life was so dated. He didn't care for it anymore, for they were no threat to him, and the peace he felt now was so magnified that he could focus on nothing but the future. He was reborn. The past held gentle memories, and familiarity, but that's all it held. And it wasn't worth it to focus on a dying candle when he was standing in the midst of a supernova.

He shifted his position at another angle, and his memory shard caught his eye. It looked so foreign, so elegant, against a tangled mess of wires, on top of stray boxes, in the middle of an unfinished room. But that's all it was, now. A trinket, a representation of old ire among other things he had no use for.

A dull ennui crept at him now, but he chose to push it away with newer thoughts. Closing his eyes, he felt that same connection to everything in the room, everything on the ship. He didn't think he'd ever tire of that feeling, coupled with this all-too-recent sensation of more than just memories among him. He felt part of something, as if he was briefly sharing thoughts with things other than the walls and floor, but it was such a pleasant sensation. He wasn't alone, he was free to share his thoughts, and he didn't feel the need to hide anything.

The sensation never really left him, but it was different when it wasn't focused. It was always there, always in your head, always welcome, but not always conscious. He tried to find something to compare it to, but found nothing was adequate enough. It was an entirely new experience. Nevertheless, he caught his reflection in the stream he so often settled upon. Nothing unfamiliar- the same four, green orbs, the same dual-pupils, the same faint circuitry. The reflection was grounding more than anything. Alleviating, even.

And with nothing else to think on, he returned, at peace standing in the hold, thinking little at all about nothing in particular.