Richard takes a few deep breaths. Drops his fists from his eyes. Still lets out a sob or two, still can't open his eyes all the way. He could try to defend his position, could try to explain why he felt the way he did. Would Fletcher understand?

“You don't know...how long I've lived thinking I had a purpose. You don't know...”

And he's tired of people forcing him to live longer based on their own hopes, not on his own.