Petalose 03 Leave No Trace

a/n: Hope and the crew know how to take down a campsite. Drown and stir those ashes, then do it all over again!

All the good things belong to Monolithsoft.

Hope tried to be satisfied with Quincy's response, but it was difficult. That night, in the shared away tent, Quincy's cough was constant, small and sharp barks. He wasn't trying to hide it. He probably wasn't even aware of it. Every time Hope drifted towards wakefulness, during a guard change, it was there, tapping away painfully, with small wheezes mixed in. She might have been overly sensitive however. It wasn't bad enough to wake him. It didn't bother Gwin either. When Doug woke Hope for her shift on guard duty (she liked the early morning one, when everything was quiet and fresh), she smiled to see Gwin doing his usual cuddle-with-random-teammate thing.

Gwin couldn't help it; he could be sound asleep and all the same he would wriggle and sprawl until he had made contact with another soldier, at which point he would wrap himself around the teammate like ivy on a tree. Everyone got used to it, from Irina to Frye. This morning Quincy had an arm over Gwin, the younger man's head tucked under his chin. Hope smiled fondly at the two of them. Then Quincy, still asleep, coughed sharply and muttered. Hope's smile faded.

She thought about the two sleepers as she walked the boundary of the encampment. Hope couldn't believe that both men were the same age as she was. Gwin oozed juvenile hijinks, while Quincy had a steadiness that masked his basic good cheer. She was used to thinking of Gwin as a younger brother, never mind the years, but usually she thought of Quincy as an equal. In the dim light of the tent, he had looked worn out. Doug had done a double guard shift, relieving him early, and Hope was very glad. Maybe he could even take a day off and grab that extra rest he obviously needed.

No such luck. Quincy had woken up and started working before the sky was properly bright. He'd muttered a soft hello to Hope when she had passed him on her last round as guard, but he hadn't stopped shifting gear, making hurried notes as he'd organized the mounds of samples.

During breakfast, Hope watched Gwin manage to eat double rations as easily as breathing and without being fully awake. Yes, he was definitely younger. She looked up from her own tray and spotted Doug and Quincy talking seriously near the research area. Quincy gestured at his throat, like he had done with her. Doug nodded once, slapped Quincy on the shoulder, and headed toward the mess area. Quincy had plunged back into his research.

Doug didn't waste words. "We gotta pack it up. One hour."

Hope and Gwin tried to question him, but it wasn't very effective. Hope was too full of worried suspicions, and Gwin's mouth was too full of Bayko-Cake (tm, now with extra bacon).

Doug shuffled his heavy boots and set his jaw. "59 minutes. Get on it."

Gwin was still chewing, but they indeed began to pack up. With his help, Hope had the tent collapsed, packed, and stowed in minutes. Doug focused on the communications and weapons, keeping a steady link with NLA with updated progress every 15 minutes. Quincy, of course, was busy packing his scientific gear. He joined the others by the time they were attacking the camp kitchen. For all the complexity and importance of his work, he had been the fastest. It was almost like he had been packing everything for a while, maybe even as he went along. Hope admired how organized he was.

The site was swept and clean of everything in less than the allotted time. No forgotten tent stakes, no errant sample jars. Hope made double sure of that. Even a food wrapper could be useful to the Ganglion and, honestly, the idea of filling Mira with trash turned Hope's stomach. All in under 60 minutes.

While she scanned and rescanned the ground, Gwin was whining. Now that the packing was done, he felt free to complain a little. "Couldn't we have finished breakfast? Or warned us so we could have, you know, had triple helpings at dinner? Less to pack, right?"

Doug didn't respond to the gentle trolling. His face remained serious. "Something came up." He looked across the bare campsite. "You ready?" he called.

Quincy joined them, nodding his affirmative. He had been doubled over with a round of coughing, and he still seemed unable to speak clearly. To make sure, he gave Barrett a thumbs up.

It wasn't enough for Doug. "You good to fly?"

Quincy waved what looked like an asthma inhaler, small and plastic and crooked slightly. "I have this," he said, roughly. He took a breath and said more clearly, "It helps, short term. I waited until now, because ... well ... it'll get me home. I swear, I thought I had more time."

Hope's stomach was turning with worry now. She noticed a bit of trash by Quincy's feet. Probably the wrapper from the inhaler. She picked it up, not wanting him to have to bend.

It was a flower. A daisy.

What was a daisy doing in Sylvalum?

a/n: No, really, please remember to drown your campfire to the point of swampiness, then stir it very hard to get all the ashes/coals wet, then repeat. I have seen narrow misses and it is easier to prevent it.

Next up: If it wasn't obvious by now, Doug will use small words to explain, because Gwin.