A/N: Lila has gotten settled, even started a small business in NLA. It's a busy, tiring time for everyone in that city.

Pure short fluff, some swears. Set in New LA, just pre-game, possible minor spoilers to Ch. 5.

Lila is not Cross, she's not even close, just a NPC with a blue speech bubble with useful info on skell fuel usage. Neither she nor her station nor crew are canon. Everything else belongs to the geniuses of MONOLITH SOFT.

^_^ Happy 1 year anniversary for Europe (already) and North America (an hour to go, less in Newfoundland) and Australia (tomorrow, but that's really soon). ^_^

"Auxiliary Skell Refueling Station 1, Lila speaking." She turned her back to the repair area, concentrating to hear over the noise.

"Where is he?"

"The Commander? He's sitting in my office. Said he needed to check something."

"He's alone?" Eleonora's voice dripped disapproval, in the nicest way possible.

"Yes," said Lila slowly, not quite certain what was wrong.

The tiny image of Eleonora rolled her eyes, which surprised Lila. Even when things were going badly, she'd never seen the polished blonde behave with anything less than politeness. "He's not answering his comm device. I assumed, well, never mind what I assumed, I need to talk to him."

"Oh! I'll go check."

"And you're really not with him?"

"No, like I said, he's inside the office."

"Honestly, that man."

"Well, I had to finish beating some sense into a customer."

"And he didn't at least offer to help? Go. Get him. Now." And Eleonora hung up.

Lila trotted over to the office, a little worried. It wasn't like the Chief, correction, the Commander to ignore his duties. Probably just really involved in his research, whatever it was. She hoped the issue wasn't causing him too much trouble.

She stepped into her office, her eyes taking a few seconds to adjust. "Chief?" she said. No, once again, she'd slipped into the old habit. Really, when would she remember that they were no longer on the Whale, that he was no longer the Chief Engineer?

He was sitting motionless on her battered couch, arms stretched wide, head tipped back. His comm device had dropped to the floor. Lila was shocked. No, oh no, please don't let him be ill, she thought. Then she heard a not in the least bit gentle snore. She almost giggled at her moment of panic. He was dead to the world, asleep like a sprawling giant.

Lila smiled over at her former boss, although she really didn't have any right to. She'd noticed that he'd looked so very tired this morning when he came by for the weekly invoicing and complementary coffee. His eyes were still shadowed under his fair eyebrows, but his face had a little more color now. Not enough, though. Lila was an expert on being too pale, practically living the life of a burrow dwelling animal for nearly 3 years now. She had been happy in the sheds, and the ship, and now the station, where the raging furies of her agoraphobia wouldn't get her. But Vandham shouldn't have to do that; he should at least get a chance to enjoy some fresh air. Could she maybe switch their meetings to Barista Court? She owed him that at least.

A wave of tiredness hit her, and she was surprised at how she longed to settle in next to him. She wondered what would happen if she did. Probably he'd snap awake and launch her outside, or launch himself outside, depending on how startled he was. But she was utterly convinced that if she could manage it, she would finally be able to sleep. Just sharing the same couch would be enough.

She hadn't slept well on Mira, and it was getting steadily worse. Wednesday's all-nighters had morphed into late night sessions all week long. She'd been forced to take drastic measures, going completely old school on the issue. It hadn't been easy to procure, being a custom job, and it had sucked up a surprising number of credits, but there it was, beside the couch: a hardback copy of A Tour of the Calculus. A few pages of that solved the problem, if only for one or two hours. Trouble was, she was already 80% done with it, and she didn't know what she'd use next.

It wasn't anything to do with the synchronization. After all, she'd slept fine on the ship (ha, a complete lie, but one she could pretend was true). Along with tiredness, Lila suddenly felt an intense homesickness for the great ship. She'd loved it, loved every centimeter of it. Not the Habitat Unit, the area that now made up New L.A, that she had avoided. The false sky, the false society had done nothing for her. Worse yet, it had been full of dangers as people took their frustrations out on each other. No, she'd loved the endless corridors of the main ship, the stairways and service shafts. She'd taken to popping into various labs, on the excuse of asking if they needed anything from engineering. The real reason was curiosity, and the need for reassurance that everyone was still working, had not given up. She knew all the maintenance closets, and better yet, she'd memorized the schedules for their use. Always a good place to crash, curled up in a corner of an idle closet, head resting on a bundle of fairly clean rags. She almost never went to her proper bunk after the first few months, all part of her goal of spending the minimal amount of time in the Habitat Unit. She'd even loved the huge engine rooms, even though they triggered killer dizziness. Somehow she could almost ignore it there, because they were full of sound and lights and co-workers and something else. She wasn't sure she could explain it, but maybe she'd say they were full of information. Or hope.

She'd walked the length of the ship one weekend, managing to go from the nose to tail or as close to it as possible (she hadn't risked getting too close to the bridge). She'd planned to do it again, but never gotten around to it. More often, she'd played a sort of ongoing hide and seek game around the Lifehold. That area and the bridge, those were the only places with real security. She'd tried to see how close she could get to it, finding inventive ways of approaching it. Side corridors. The space between ceilings and floors. She'd wriggled in some weird locations. One ventilation shaft had looked really promising. She'd returned several times, until suddenly there were guards at a key entrance. She hadn't given up, but the next week there had been a flurry of motion sensors. A week later, the motion sensors had been upgraded. That had been that. When she'd talked to…, well, anyway, she'd promised she was done with that game. But she'd still gone back when she was bored, and even succeeded. Once. Eventually, she'd reported that too.

Looking at the Chief, no, really now, pay attention, the Commander, asleep as he was, she felt some of that same safety and comfort that the White Whale had provided. She'd had a proper purpose back then, a proper rank. Now, she was just a grotty little tech, running a not-completely authorized business that served the lazier, more impatient and just plain more incompetent BLADEs. You could always get your skell refueled and serviced for free in the official hangar, just a few steps away. You might have to wait, and you might well have to explain embarrassing situations, such as lack of planning or unnecessary damage, but it was free. Pilots that preferred not to face up to their miscalculations turned to Lila, and she felt their shame rub off on her.

She really really wanted to snuggle next to him, absolutely unacceptable of course. She'd accept sitting at the far end of the couch, with her fingers just resting against his arm. But pride made her shake her head, changing her decision. It was her couch, after all, and she should be allowed to sit where she liked. And if some guest wanted to take up such a massive amount of it, he had better well share it and not complain. Snuggling it was, then. She smiled, and settled for tapping his boot with the tip of her own safety shoe, the gentlest (and safest) way she could think to wake him up.

"Sir, someone's been trying to reach you."

He lifted his head and blinked at her. "And they goddamned sent you to find me. Hell, Lila, it was just getting to the good part."

"What good part?"

He scowled at her. She was glad to see that his face was looking almost rosy. The sleep, no matter how short, must have done him some good. "None of your business." He sighed, reached for his comm device and swiped it open, then scowled again. "Jesus, Eleonora, leave enough messages, why don't you."

He surged to his feet. "I guess I'll take a rain check on the coffee. Tastes disgusting anyway. I hope you don't expect to win any prizes because I can't tell the coffee from the fuel some days."

"I was thinking, sir, maybe next time I can give you my report at Barista Court."

He looked surprised, but didn't argue. "Fine. I hit it at about 0600 most days. I'll see you next Thursday."

"It's a date, sir."

He stopped to look thoughtfully at her, before shaking his head and moving on. Lila was already calculating just how many meters of open space she'd need to cross to get to the coffee stand.

A/n: Thus answering some of the open questions from Twitchy Tales of the Whale/3/Broken. Because that's what freaked poor Lila out one long weekend and almost killed her. Also, no, she didn't behave and stop sleeping in closets just because someone told her to in TTotW/2/Doors; she just didn't let herself get caught.

Next up: NLA Noir, full of crime, dames, goons, and Mediators. Also, way too much geeking out about slightly incorrect skell head canon, suffer it, kids. It's worth it, because there is also Alexa, Mara, and a soupcon of Doug.

...

(No I did not mean "soup can of Doug", I just can't get the right type for that c/cedilla. What would that mean anyway? Now I'm never getting that idea out of my head. Campbell's Cream of Dougie Soup. Shoot me now. )

...

((I suppose I could have written "whiff of Doug" but now I'm thinking of Doug-based cologne. Eau de Doug. Sniff, sniff. Smells like skell. Shoot. Me. Now.))