He almost quit that day; the day they thought they would never see Joy and Sadness again. He had lifted himself up into the tube, the same way he had seen them escape the day before, and tried to remind himself that he wasn't abandoning his friends. Well, okay. Maybe he was, but it was all in the name of self-preservation. Riley couldn't survive without Joy, and she would be better off without him. Besides, Joy and Sadness weren't coming back. They all knew that. Anger and Disgust would understand.
(Or maybe it was just him, with his quaking elbows and ever-shaking toes, who was paranoid enough to believe they'd never be able to show their faces in headquarters ever again. It had seemed rational at the time—they were stuck outside of the place they had always known as home, out in a maze of colored orbs and grey, lifeless islands. He remembered staring out the window constantly, wondering if he'd catch a glimpse of yellow or blue, but it was all such a blur. The colors all seemed to blend into one, or maybe he was just shaking so hard he couldn't see straight.)
And yet he was oddly happy when the pipe shot him right back out, even if he felt battered and worse-for-wear.
Then, later on, he almost snatched that angular lightbulb right out of Anger's hands. He wanted so badly to reprimand him for his actions; how dare he put Riley in that sort of danger? It was Fear's job to keep her safe, after all. It was simply in his job description to do such a thing.
(But of course, he couldn't do something like that. No matter how much he protested, whined, or begged, he couldn't say a foul word in Anger's direction. He was scared; just as scared as he always was, but perhaps a little bit more. Why shouldn't he have been? The circumstances were dire. But there was something more to it than that; it was as if he didn't want to ruin... something. Something he couldn't quite place, but something that was certainly there and making him more nervous than usual. An agreement, perhaps. An agreement between the three of them that he wasn't ready to break.)
And yet his hand lingered there in mid-air, unable to make a move, even if he knew he'd be doing what was right.
He was almost, oddly enough, disappointed during the first few days after Sadness and Joy's return. No, no, "disappointed" wasn't the right word. He was definitely relieved, but things just felt... lukewarm, at best.
(And a small part of him—a tiny part of him that he didn't want to acknowledge—knew exactly why that was. He had gotten a taste of something he liked and now he didn't want to let go of it. Riley surely couldn't function without Joy and Sadness, but there was a rush that only Anger and Disgust could give him. He hadn't noticed it until the others were gone, but now that they were back Fear wishes he had one more moment to figure out just what it was.)
And yet he felt alright, but only when he felt Disgust's hand on his shoulder and saw a rare smile flicker across Anger's face.
And then... he almost wished he didn't figure out just what it was he had been feeling all those days ago. He'd almost holed himself up in his room, almost skipped work, almost even thought about talking to them, had almost told them...
(That rush had not been anything he could have expected, but somehow he didn't feel surprised. Something about it felt right, no matter how much he told himself it had to be wrong. He had to belong with one, if he belonged with anybody at all. And he doubted he did; who would ever love a shaking, sniveling mess like him?)
And yet he felt light as a feather when he walked up to the console that day, oddly happy at the sight of them arguing.
Joy and Sadness had overslept, and he was glad to have but a minute alone with them. For once in his life, he felt content to let his feelings be, even if there was almost nothing he could do about them.