[Before the jump, L had been unwilling to assume that the group trapped on the Bridge wouldn't make it out.
The probability was high, he knew, but it wasn't a certainty--there was the example of Hotspur against the events at Strela (all before his time), and although it appeared to be one thing, and he preferred to be realistic, there was always the small hope that the situation could turn around.
A door had to open; that was all, nothing but a door. If they had been going to suffer and die, why hadn't it happened through the week? Why keep them alive until the jump so that they could die in that specific manner? A quick death when a slow one would have been possible? None of what he knew could be assembled into the kind of cohesive theory that he would have needed to fully believe that no escape might happen.
Now it's the usual post-jump discomfort, exacerbated by the consistent chill in the room, but he still looks around to see if any of the erstwhile mutineers have made it after all. He doesn't see Nathan right away, or Juliana... who else had been there?
Marty catches his eye. L steps into his path, peering into his face from about half a yard away. There's a beat before he says anything.]
You're not dead.
[He stares for another beat, then his face breaks into a rare, wide smile: elation and relief. If Mikalski made it, and the tragic element of his appearance doesn't go any further than a bloody nose--no appearance of sadness or guilt--then everyone else most likely made it, too.]
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The probability was high, he knew, but it wasn't a certainty--there was the example of Hotspur against the events at Strela (all before his time), and although it appeared to be one thing, and he preferred to be realistic, there was always the small hope that the situation could turn around.
A door had to open; that was all, nothing but a door. If they had been going to suffer and die, why hadn't it happened through the week? Why keep them alive until the jump so that they could die in that specific manner? A quick death when a slow one would have been possible? None of what he knew could be assembled into the kind of cohesive theory that he would have needed to fully believe that no escape might happen.
Now it's the usual post-jump discomfort, exacerbated by the consistent chill in the room, but he still looks around to see if any of the erstwhile mutineers have made it after all. He doesn't see Nathan right away, or Juliana... who else had been there?
Marty catches his eye. L steps into his path, peering into his face from about half a yard away. There's a beat before he says anything.]
You're not dead.
[He stares for another beat, then his face breaks into a rare, wide smile: elation and relief. If Mikalski made it, and the tragic element of his appearance doesn't go any further than a bloody nose--no appearance of sadness or guilt--then everyone else most likely made it, too.]
It's good to see you.