Flying is definitely, definitely cheating, and so is getting so goddamn personal. Everything Rich says cuts straight to the bone in a way it has no right to. Not now, not here, not with fucking space squids.

This is what happens when you let people know things about you: Someone will use it to hurt you. Somehow. Always. And, apparently, doing that while wearing a friend like a suit is also on the table.

Rich can see him. Shit.

"Nope! Nuhuh! Not doing this!" he barks, breaking from one cover to search for the next. He has play this out as long as he can. The stargate may already be charging, but people are coming and they have to be able to do something. Keeping Rich and the things riding him busy is all Grif can do to hope.