The latest spin-up had left him with a broken humerus and a gunshot wound to the shoulder on that same side. His shoulder and arm hurt almost more than he could fathom. Still, the rest of the team shipping out a short week later, without him, hurt almost just as bad.
Seeing the C-130 take off in the distance felt like a hand wrapped around his intestines, squeezing them.
A big ball of regret sat at the top of his throat. Promising that if he dared to try to speak, his voice would crack and his eyes start watering.
He didn't understand why he felt like this. Felt so alone, so isolated. It wasn't like they left him forever. They just left him until he was better.
He wasn't being abandoned. This wasn't like when his father had walked out on him when he was a kid. This wasn't his mother not being able to take care of him alone. This wasn't it.
This was the team giving him time to heal, while they went off to save the world. They couldn't stop just because he couldn't do his job at the moment. He understood that.
He looked down at the sling holding his arm and shoulder immobilized. He reached up with his left hand and tugged the tennis-ball sized foam ball off the Velcro thing at the end of the wedge which held his forearm a few inches in out from his body, then he placed the ball in his right hand and gave it a weak squeeze.
There hadn't been any 'goodbyes', they didn't do that when one of their own couldn't ship out with them. It was always 'see you in a few days/weeks/months'.
Still, he couldn't remember the last time he felt as alone.