a/n: Quincy reassures Hope that he's just fine.

All the good things belong to Monolith Soft.

The mission continued, but the worry didn't quite fade. Hope knew that Doug was checking on Quincy, and she kept a concerned eye on him as well. They had always been on friendly terms outside of missions. They would see each other at choir practice, which sometimes spilled over to more popular bouts of karaoke. They had shared the occasional dinner after missions. Quincy was a regular friendly face at briefings, always the first to ask about Mediator policies for other divisions.

Gwin was less concerned, but he confirmed that Quincy was indeed taking the suggested breaks, although it might not count as rest. Doug had asked about it a few nights after the initial talk, as Gwin was stuffing his face with re-hydrated baked potato. Quincy had already finished his meal before Hope had sat down, making his polite excuses. It was the perfect opportunity to ask without being awkward.

"Yeah, we're coming in for lunch. The food stores aren't that low that you should be worried, right?" Gwin reached over and refreshed his remaining potato with a heaping scoop of chili. His head was down and his elbows up as he dove in. "We grab a bite and then he wanders off to do I don't know what."

"He's supposed to take a break," said Hope.

Doug scratched his jaw thoughtfully. "It's more crucial to give Gwin a break. Standing guard requires concentration. Easy missions burn you out just as fast as busy ones, maybe more so. But Quincy should be resting too."

"I guess you could call it rest. Once he dries off, he's either nose deep in his jars of goo or snoring. Or coughing."

Hope moved the chili away from another foray by the rapacious Interceptor. She wanted some for herself. "Can he have caught a cold? I mean, even on Earth it was just an old wive's tale, about wet feet and catching cold, but he does spend so much time in the lake."

Gwin turned his attention to the shredded cheese. "He's fine. It's kind of boring for me."

Doug snorted and moved the cheese after Gwin had reduced it by half. "Poor baby. If you find it so boring, you could talk to the man about his work. I don't know a nerd that doesn't want to talk about their shit. You might learn something. It's a stretch but it could happen."

"I get enough of that from Mathias." Gwin shrugged at the thought of his enthusiastic friend, currently back in NLA tabulating flower populations. He looked longingly at the sour cream. Hope took pity on him and handed him the container. Gwin smiled his thanks and promptly polished it off.

Hope didn't criticize Gwin for his lack of interest in Quincy's studies. Quincy was being strangely closed-mouthed this mission. Back in NLA it was different. There he had enjoyed telling her about what he was learning. He was a good story teller. He could usually make her laugh, telling her about doing surgery on a ticklish giant land-anemone, or scrubbing the stench off a skell that had accidentally driven too close to a mephite he was trying to sample. After she came in from her part of the current mission, Hope tried to talk to him but it went absolutely nowhere. Quincy was always just about to head out, or catch some sleep, or so focused on the samples that he couldn't spare the time.

It worried her, and it irritated her professionally that he was dodging her. Mediators often took responsibility for the health of their teams, not just in battle but during off-times as well. Doug had confessed that he was still worried about Quincy's sleeping patterns, although those naps while Gwin was taking a break might be enough. All the same Doug wasn't comfortable with it. "What with his early hours and guard duty, I figure he's getting the bare minimum of 3 hours for recharging. And you know how irregular the away mats can be. Quincy might be running on half a load, if you get my drift."

Finally she cornered Quincy as he was grabbing breakfast. "I thought we were friends," she said, then stopped herself. She hated using guilt but at that point she was not just worried, she was also a little hurt. It had been a week of having him clearly not want to talk to her, about ANYTHING. They weren't strangers. They'd teamed together. Gone out for curry. Sung together, in the cathedral, yes, but also some very fun nights of karaoke. She considered him her friend.

Quincy held his tray unsteadily, only a dab of egg and half a toastie in a mostly empty space. Worry went zinging through her, and she wanted to take back her sharp words. But his smile was exactly the way it always was, that same half goofy, half surprised smile he always wore, like happiness was maybe possible but not quite expected.

He gathered himself. Clearly he still wasn't comfortable talking about the stress of the job, but she could tell he was trying to be honest. Finally, he shrugged. "I just don't have time out here, Hope. I wish I did, with all my heart, but the job ... if I can get through this mission I should have some breathing space."

"You need a rest." That felt very inadequate and not at all helpful for the moment. But what else could she say? Both she and Doug were trying to make it easier for him, but if he was too wound up to rest, what could they do? They weren't trained enough to help, not even to label the samples.

Quincy didn't take offense. He wasn't that kind of person, which made his recent short temper so unusual. He chuckled, although it was followed by that nasty dry cough that even Gwin had noticed. The cough wasn't new, Hope realized. Quincy had canceled karaoke earlier that month because of it.

"I already requested leave," he assured her. "And before you say another word, I also have an appointment at the Mim Center because of ..." He waved his hand vaguely at his throat.

And with that she had to be satisfied.

a/n: Okay, next chapter will explain the title. What can I say, I was having fun writing about dinner. If you need more of Hope and Quincy doing normal things, please see AUgust 2022/15/Flower disease, and AUgust 2021/28/Fake Relationship.