Dread - dull and aching in his chest and the pit of his stomach. Waking up knowing she leaves today, Stinger mentally curses. He knows the feeling is only going to grow and he's going to be miserable after she leaves.

She's sleeping with her back to him, no connection to him now. A fleeting thought of leaving before he has to go through the pain of saying goodbye tempts him for a moment. But she said she was depending on these last hours with him to help her through the months away. Damn. He's so far beyond buggered, now, there's not even a word for it.

She stretches and yawns. In a sleepy voice she asks before turning to face him, "Who are you mentally talking to? You're not saying words out loud, but I can hear the smacking and clicking of your mouth moving. I could swear they're very choice words by the staccato and that you're fussing about something."

Double damn. How does she know him so well after only two days? Pursing his lips, he requests, "Come here. Let me hold you."

Understanding dawns on her face, and she crawls over to lay on top of him. She can't wrap her arms around his neck very well while he's on his back. But she leans on her elbows and surrounds his head with her forearms and sinks her fingers into his hair, then covers his face with the tenderest of kisses. Wrapping his arms around her, he mashes her to him as tight as he can.

Barely audible she gasps, "Can't… breathe..."

His crushing grip releases enough for her to take a breath again, and lifts his head to bury his face in the crook of her neck. "Sorry."

"I know the feeling. I want to soak you up entirely while I have the chance. Sleeping alone tonight will be torture." Laying her head on his shoulder she tightens her arms, as if trying to drink him in and keep him there for later.

A scheduled thunderstorm rolls in around the tower high in the atmosphere. Soella offers to let a portion of the storm effects into the room, mentioning that it's a favorite for lovers. Bridget looks to Stinger and he shrugs. She answers, "Sure."

A warm soft drizzle falls on them and disappears before hitting the floor. When she straddles his hips, he jests "Need me again already this morning? I'm starting to lose count."

That zinger lightens the mood and earns him a couple of big zerberts under his chin. "Yes and this will be five, silly. Is there some record you're trying to break, or what?"

He was just catching his breath from being tickled, and that remark doesn't help. When he can finally speak, he takes her hand intertwining his fingers with hers and states with heartfelt conviction, "It's not a race, Love." Then his eyebrows wiggle conspiratorially, "But if you want to break the record, well have to go for six at least."

After she manages to close her gaping mouth, she looks at him incredulously, "Oh really, now? I thought I was the shocking one. That earned you a point. Now, do tell."

It's kind of hard to maintain so much bravado, but he takes a breath and muddles into a not too detailed retelling. Telling the guys about your exploits is one thing. Telling your girl is another and downright uncomfortable. "Young, lusty Legionnaires. We partied hard and well… sometimes groups of us would end up in bed all together. It was a wild time." Thankfully, her eyes have a reassuring merriment. So he asks, "What about you?"

She pokes a finger in the center of his chest. "You've got my record, old codger. Being with you is as rebellious and wild as I've been."

In a hushed lusty voice he confesses, "I want to be the one to keep your record. Let me make love to you again."

By the time she has to leave, beyond any 'records' - they've marked themselves indelibly on each other's heart. Leaving the hotel they'll never be able to afford to stay at again, they walk down the street hand in hand instead of using the valet service for her cycle. They could care less about the stares at their open affection and plain clothes that don't fit in here among the stuffy aristocracy.

He tells her drop him off at the nearest public transport. As she slows to a stop with his arms still hanging on to her, she brings up a topic she's been avoiding.

"Stinger."

"Aye?"

"I'm going to be gone a long time..." her voice trails off and her head hangs as she tries to say this. It's so hard to keep the tears at bay and it takes her a few moments to gather herself to speak again. He gets off the cycle and walks around to face her with concern on his face. Her mouth goes dry, and she rubs her arm. She has to spit this out before she can't, but she can't look at him as she says it. "I'll understand if you find someone else."

"Bridget Love, I'll w…" he starts earnestly, but she looks up and covers his mouth with her finger tips to stop him.

"Don't. We've known each other less than three days. The last guy that I knew for much longer made a promise like that broke my heart with that very promise shortly after. If you keep communication open with me, I'll know you want me to see you again."

"I'm not able to be so selfless." Putting a hand on each side of her face, he pulls her forehead to his lips. "I need to know when you get to your ship safe."

She tries to just give him a peck on the cheek, but he'll have none of that and pulls her into a rough desperate kiss that leaves them both a little breathless. Unable to actually say the word 'goodbye', he steps back, shoves his hands in his pockets and mumbles, "You'd better go before I stop you from leaving."

Revving her cycle, she takes off before she sees if he will actually keep her here. She does look back and sees him still there. She pours on the speed, letting the ache seep into the her racing.

After watching until she's out of sight, he turns the collar up on his new shirt to smell her perfume. Instead of taking public transport, he walks. It doesn't matter how far. He just doesn't want to go home tonight.

Thirty-five ticks later, feeling the familiar buzz of a message he taps the back of his neck. Her voice plays in his head, 'My dear Old Codger. Arrived. Still darn sore after all our activities. Everyone here is a mix of being out of sorts and anxious to get on our way. Looking forward to getting my implant tomorrow so messages can be more private and I can hear your voice. Miss you. What are you doing tonight?'

He musters as much positivity as ha can, the opposite of how he feels right now. 'Think I'm gonna head to the range, then see when Jinco kicks me out. Let me know when you get your implant. It's good to hear your voice.'

At the range, his aim is terrible until someone behind him gives him guff. It puts him in an even more foul mood. While the jerk stands there mouthing off, Stinger loosens his shoulders then puts five shots right in between the eyes of the humanoid target. Without even facing the braggart, Stinger growls as he holsters his pistol and cracks his knuckles with expectation, "Care to step outside? I talk better with my fists than I shoot." The guy blanches, clamping his mouth shut and walks away quickly. Stinger shrugs and goes back to trying to blow off steam. A fight would have been better. Tomorrow he'll visit the Aegis training center or maybe that splice bar he had to leave.

When he walks into the Little Devil, Jinco asks where Bridget is. Stinger almost turns around and leaves. Seeing his hesitation, Jinco quickly puts a tankard out for him, "Tell me when you're able." Stinger nods, drains the pint and asks for another.

Aboard the Abrasax Clipper D-Gamma 9, Bridget is overwhelmed and tired. Team building activities, getting her implant, training sessions on how to care for your recovering teammates, drawing lots for who will go through the procedure first, meeting Mr. Night and Ms. Gresh, and dealing with her panicked team member who drew first go. She volunteered to trade and assured her that she'd show her it really can't be that bad. She collapses leaving Stinger a very short message. 'Sweet Old Codger. Have implant. Longer message later. You're probably at Jinco's now anyway.' Replaying his message on the new tech, she falls asleep to his voice.