Author's Note: One of the things I find curious about Stork is the difference between saying "I'm only here until something better comes along", and his generally dry, sadistic sense of humour, but at the same time, he has some emotional investment in the crew. It gets 'worse' as the series goes on, and being a pilot, I'm sure this is something that worries him. It's pretty common in fighter pilots that, after losing someone in battle, they go into a kind of shock where they literally can't fly anymore. It's a psychological thing, and it can keep them grounded for years, if not the rest of their life. I think this is a genuine fear to Stork, and he tries to keep himself from getting to attached. Sadly, he's failing pretty miserably at keeping the rest of the crew expendable in his mind. Abney Park's "The Ballad of Captain Robert" and the crew of the Flying Dutchman in the Pirates of the Caribbean movies get honourable mentions for being other sources of contemplation on this topic. Some hints at PiperxStork and JunkoxStork, but nothing concrete.

xxxxxx

I try to tell myself. Expendable crew. I'm expendable. The ship's expendable.

I know that last part's not true – oh, how I die as she breaks around me. I can't imagine what I'd do without her. Well, I can – I'd go crazy. Have done. But now, now I can remember – we can always rebuild. And she'll be just the way she was. Except... upgraded. Better. Stronger. Faster. And with actually decent armour, which is always nice. Shame the technology really hasn't changed all that much over the years. People are too busy trying to make do to try and improve. It's a shame, really. There's so much that can be done...

Like the crew, for instance. That's one thing I like about Piper – she's always experimenting, trying to learn new things. She doesn't really study up from books, though, so she's relearning a lot of things that others have already figured out, but she does it in her own way. And in her own time. In a way, I think that makes the revelation more personal. Everything she knows is from personal sacrifice, and that's something I really respect.

...But I have to remind myself, she's expendable.

Like Finn. Finn's expendable. Mind, I don't know anyone who can shoot as good as him (although Ravess gives him a run for his money – if either of them took the time to really train their minds, they'd be even better) but his ridiculously immature nature really betrays the amount of seriousness he uses in regards to honing his skill. Pot shots and dares that just keep pushing him a little further each time. It's silly, but it works. In a way, he's like that little brother – decidedly obnoxious, and very annoying at times, but he could be really great if he really put his mind to it.

But... ultimately expendable. Has to be.

I mean, everyone has muscle. And Wallops are crazy common. Their culture gives them a predisposition to mercenary life, and Junko's not even terribly strong in comparison to most of his race. It'd be easy to find a replacement for him. Mind, he likely won't be such a gentle giant – trying to impress the rest of us with whatever cultural traditions he can remember, cooking classic dishes and trying to help out. He's always so nervous and apologetic, and it's so at odds with his brute strength, it just... boggles me a bit. In a good way, in an amused sort of way.

Yeah, it wouldn't be the same, but ultimately, expendable.

Now Aerrow... Aerrow is so expendable it's crazy. I would happily trade commanders to someone less reckless and foolhardy and ready to get into trouble. I swear, the missions he volunteers us for are completely demented, and downright suicidal for the most part. And Piper loves going over the puzzle of how to get in without being spotted, even if she doesn't say it outright. Finn's always up for a challenge, and Junko's always on for the ride. Aerrow is definitely the glue that binds us together, and the big trap that speaks up when everyone else knows it's in their best interest to say nothing, and let someone else take it. Maybe not as big as Finn's, but just as dangerous.

Oh, he's totally going to get himself killed one day, with that righteous daring. He's going to end up with a statue in his honour, likely, or at least an honourable mention in a museum somewhere, but ultimately, one day he'll be dead. Completely expendable.

And I sigh. Completely expendable. I say it, and I try my best to believe it, but... When my books run out, I think. And the things I think scare me. I think of the others, and how grateful I am to have them.

I think of Piper, shaking that cute little tush while grooving a little to that jazzy music of hers. The big smile on her face as she announces that a fresh batch of sandcakes are ready, and I'm almost certain I'm the first person she tells. Her convoluted suggestions as to how to make a gadget work when I'm growling, stuck on a project. Usually it's completely overkill, and hardly works, but there's usually a concept in the third or fourth suggestion that actually helps. The awkward compliments after a day of particularly good flying, when she's trying to keep herself from glomping me or giving me a kiss. She tries to be professional, but it's hard to deny the intimacy we've developed from working together for so long.

And it's that intimacy that scares me. The crew is supposed to be expendable.

I think of Finn, those days where we're left to watch the ship. The uncanny way he has of finding the right button to push to make my instincts to live override my instincts to go somewhere quiet and unwind. He comes up with the maddest ideas some times, and I confess that playing Truth & Dare with him is an unreasonably large amount of fun. He's just so zealous, and headstrong, I want to send him out into the most dangerous place I can think of, just to see if his luck and tenacity will hold out. If it does, it adds a little more to the small pile of respect I have for him. His brashness has a tendency of knocking that pile over, but usually he's pretty in the positive.

And if he doesn't, that's alright. Because he's expendable. Right?

And Junko... Oh, Junko. I can't help but like Junko. He's not even a brute. Granted, his cooking is a lame excuse for cuisine – all of the garbage he eats, and he doesn't like Merb Cabbage. I tell you, he's demented. His palate is nothing to think of as reasonable. But he's like a baby brother – klutzy, terribly easy to amuse, and well-meaning. He does his best to be an upstanding citizen, although it still boggles my mind that he thinks of himself as a weakling. I mean, seriously. And there are little moments... Moments where I think he thinks of me as more than a crew mate. I admit, I'm kind of curious as to how that might work out, but I have to watch myself.

Because a relationship is the last thing I need on this ship. It's hard to make your partner expendable.

And Aerrow. Man, I hate him so much sometimes. That grin on his face after taking on a mission. We all groan and complain, but really we're all just as psyched and pumped as he is. That relentless fury as he flies into battle, Radarr on his shoulder (pesky little thing – I really don't get Radarr, I honestly don't), always trying to encourage us. I imagine he has some kind of Hero complex, as if some great prophecy has promised him a life of glory, and he's excited to get a taste of it. But he does a good job of keeping us on the mission, and remembering what's important – the mission, those who need our help. That all of Atmos is counting on us. That it's our duty, as Storm Hawks.

But Sky Knights are ten a penny. Right?

See, it's thoughts like these that scare me. I HAVE to think of them as expendable. I'm expendable. The ship's expendable. The crew's expendable. I have to. If I don't...

There are far stronger characters than me who've lost a good man in battle, and they're so horrified, they literally... stop working. Their hands betray them. Their arms stop working. Their mind freezes up, and they can't think straight. I can't imagine what my life would be like without the Condor. I've spent so many years here, so much time and love and effort into this ship, I can't imagine ever being unable to fly again. I mean, it'd really kill me. I don't think I could live without this. I've been so long from home... I can't imagine going back to Merbia. I just... I can't. I don't know anyone there anymore, and... Well, quite frankly, seeing the scars of war on my home terra just kills me. It's part of why I never went back in the first place, and why I still haven't. I would literally have nowhere to go, and nothing to do with my life.

I've spent so long clinging to this ship – it saved me, when I was lost in the Wastelands, and I in turn saved her, repaired her, fixed her, and brought her back to life. Now... I can't imagine life without her. It kills me to be away from her. And if something happened to the Storm Hawks?

If something happened to my life?

I try to tell myself – everyone, and everything, is expendable. They try to teach you that when they teach you to pilot. But still, you can't really be that apathetic. You can't. You really can't. I've tried, but I'm failing. I try to keep my loyalties to the ship, and the ship alone, but... Now I've got my own ride. I go on away missions. I spend time out of the ship with the others – I'm not just attached to the Condor, but the Storm Hawks, as well. It's more than a uniform, a place of work, an occupation. It's my life.

I try to tell myself that everyone's expendable. But one day, one day far too soon, Doom will test that. It will take away one of them – she's already taken my baby from me twice – and we'll see what happens when I lose my Piper, or my Finn, or my Junko, or even that crazy ass Sky Knight. One day, one of them won't make it back. And it'll be a ride in the hangar without a rider. A seat in the galley without an eater. A line in our meeting that's left unsaid. An unshot target. A missing map. An immovable object.

A crew without a captain.

It scares me, these thoughts. I say that everything is expendable. That I'm only here until something better comes along. I try to believe it, but I can't.

The only way I can see things changing, and not making my life hell, is for them to take my life. For me to be the one to die. I have to be expendable.

Because I don't know what I'd do if I lost any of them.

Part of the crew, part of the ship. I'm either going to die in battle, or die in heartbreak. It's just... how it's going to be. I can't live without these guys. Not anymore. So, I research ways that my imminent demise will come to me. I seek the various ways to keep said dangers away from myself and my crew mates. What I can do to help us all live a little longer. Do my part in the war, help those who need it. Patrol the skies and do our duty as a Sky Knight's squadron. Be a Storm Hawk. Be a pilot. Be ready for anything. Keep myself busy, and not thinking of the doom that is swiftly coming.

But sometimes my books run out. And when my books run out, I think. And the things I think scare me.