A/N: Told you it would be up soon. Not much to say here, other than this is expanding on previously established premisses from my stupid little oneshot, Haven't Had Enough. And don't worry, the plot will show up sooner or later.

1. Cat and Mouse

Baird was fully aware of the irony of his current situation—down in the depths of Pinnacle Tower, hiding from all the idiots clamouring for him to fix something, while working on Sam's rat bike. But he didn't really give a damn about irony, and he was frigging sick of everyone breathing down his neck or asking stupid questions every time he worked on something. Some days, a genius just needed peace and quiet. And Sam was smart enough not to piss him off—at least while he helped her.

He had to mentally slap himself for staring again.

Things had changed a hell of a lot in the last month, and Baird didn't just mean finding tranquil silence in Sam Byrne's company, of all people. It had only been about a month since Adam Fenix's imulsion countermeasure weapon had been deployed, and some things had changed drastically, while others had stayed the same. On the top of the list of shit that everyone had to adapt to was a new fuel source. Professor Fenix's countermeasure had wiped all trace of imulsion from the face of Sera, and idiots had celebrated until they realized that meant everything that ran on imulsion was completely useless.

But that problem had an easy fix. The civvies and Gears from Sovereign who ended up on the mainland had started up the decrepit crude oil refineries, and good old-fashioned gasoline was back in demand. Petroleum hadn't been enough to satisfy Sera's energy needs, but losing ninety-nine percent of the population had a way of solving that problem. Baird would be long dead before there were enough people to warrant another energy crisis. He didn't know if that thought was supposed to depress or comfort him, so he moved on.

One thing that wasn't going anywhere was infrastructure. They had bombed themselves back into the last century, so that wasn't exactly surprising. Parry and his sappers, the poor bastards, were pretty much in charge of rebuilding everything, and training other unlucky saps to do so as well. Everybody who knew anything was "encouraged" to take on a protégé, or pass the knowledge down somehow. Doc Hayman, who had made her way over to Anvil Gate—probably more to get away from Reid than to be near Hoffman—had even taken on a dozen interns, and she was probably verbally castrating them at least ten times a day. Baird had settled on writing everything down in a journal, in case he got run over by a Centaur or something. The last thing he needed was some weedy little jackass shadowing him wherever he went.

Baird stopped working on Sam's bike to stretch his shoulders. He was practically rebuilding this piece of shit from the ground up, but the complaining was mostly for show. It gave him an excuse to spend time in the underground garage, which had basically become his office. When they'd found this place, he'd nearly pissed his pants in delight. Not that he'd ever admit that.

He spent a lot of time down here lately—whenever he needed to get away from Sharle pestering him to fix something, or when he just felt like being the antisocial dick everyone expected him to be. His social circle had shrunk considerably after Yanik and the Gorasni had left for Branascu a couple weeks ago. It was only logical that the adorable little alliance wouldn't last for long after a new fuel source was found. Still, the old arrangement stood: if either side ever found themselves in the shit again, as no doubt the case would be at some point, the other would be willing to help.

"Pass me some steel wool."

Baird looked up to see Sam holding out her hand towards him. She was sitting on the other side of her bike, trying to get rid of some rust damage. He was tempted to tell her to get it herself, but kept his mouth shut and leaned backwards to grab a handful off the workbench behind him. Instead of placing the wool in her outstretched hand, he lobbed it at her head, and quickly went back to working on the bike. However, he could practically feel her glaring at him.

"Asshole," she muttered under her breath.

Baird smirked to himself. Yeah, some things really didn't change.

Sam knew that Baird was staring. It didn't bother her anymore. Everyone stared, and that wasn't a vanity thing. It was just an occupational hazard when you were born with breasts. Sam had figured that out pretty quickly when she joined up. She'd also figured out it was only the ones that leered that she needed to worry about. Luckily, most of the men in the army only needed to look. The ones that wanted to touch were few and far between.

Or maybe they just knew to stay away from her after she broke that one corporal's nose.

Sam stopped rubbing the steel wool against the rust patch. Michaelson and Dom had both stared too, and she'd never minded. Dom… damn it.

One month. It had only been one month, so it was understandable that thinking of him still hurt like hell. Sam just still couldn't figure out how she missed him. As a friend—or something more? There was no denying the feelings she had for Dom Santiago. She'd known the man was broken, but that hadn't mattered. Despite her better judgement, Sam had been holding out hope that, eventually, he would heal. That he'd come around and realize that… Well. That there wasn't just Maria.

And there was something she couldn't ignore: Dom's unfailing, unshakeable, inextinguishable love for Maria. Sam had been willing to overlook it on Vectes, but retrospectively it was undeniable. Dom had been broken beyond repair. Even if he had survived, there would only ever be Maria.

There was a reason the saying wasn't "love is completely discerning and rational". But Sam was slowly starting to come to terms with it. She'd been attracted to a shadow of a man, to the idea of Dom. She wanted someone who didn't look at her like a piece of meat.

Baird cracked his neck and grunted, breaking her train of thought. Sam was suddenly reminded of her summons to the comms room that morning. She grinned to herself. It was time to do a little testing.

"So, Baird." Sam started, keeping her tone casual. "You ever thought of doing something besides fixing other people's shit for the rest of your life?"

He lifted his head slowly, and stared at her with one eyebrow cocked. "You see what I'm doing right now, right? Don't make me start charging you for lip."

She scoffed. "Please, I should be charging you. This is like your version of meditation. I'm providing you with a service." He rolled his eyes and went back to whatever he was doing. Time to go in. "I only bring it up because you might have to find another hobby."

"Yeah, why's that?"

Sam put on her poker face. "I talked to Hoffman this morning. He wants me to go back to the garrison at Anvegad."

Baird paused his work for a fraction of a second. Sam watched for any sort of reaction, but he had clearly been spending too much time with Marcus; the sergeant's patent non-expression had apparently rubbed off.

"Well, that's frigging perfect for you, then." His tone was slightly more acidic than usual. "You're always yapping about how much you want to go back home."

This was just too easy. "Yeah, it's been a long time." She was shooting for wistful. "I'd better pack soon. Hoffman wants me there by tomorrow night."

Again, the tinkering sounds stopped for a moment, but he made no comment.

Sam checked her wristwatch. "Shit, we've been here nearly three hours." She got to her feet. "Come on, there might still be food in the mess."

"You go." Baird didn't look up; he continued staring contemptuously at the new side fairing he was installing. "I want to finish this."

Sam shrugged. "Suit yourself."

She walked towards the elevator without a moment's hesitation, or any attempt to change the tetchy mechanic's mind. As she pressed the call button, Baird mumbled under his breath, "Just frigging perfect." She couldn't tell if she was meant to hear that or not.

Only after the elevator doors closed did Sam allow herself to grin.

Baird didn't know how much time had passed between Sam's departure and the bell of the elevator as someone arrived in his garage. He was doing his best not to care, instead focusing on the work right in front of him. But soon he wouldn't even have this to fall back on. If Sam was heading for Kashkur, her bike would probably be going with her. Baird was determined to believe that it was the loss of the bike—and his hobby—that had put him in this piss-poor mood.

"Baby, I've been looking everywhere for you!" A hand grabbed Baird's shoulder and gripped it like a vice.

Baird put his tools away and stood up. He turned to face Cole, who was wearing his trademark grin. "Yeah, like you don't know where to find me." Baird wiped his hands on a rag. "What is it?"

Cole ignored the question to stare at Sam's bike, and give Baird a knowing look. "Well, well. Looks like you won't be needing a Cole Train charm lesson after all."

Baird shrugged, and busied himself tidying up his work area. He heard Cole sigh amusedly behind him. Cole continued. "If Sam was here, I'm guessing you heard the news."

"That Sam's going to Anvil Gate? Yeah, I heard."

When he turned around after putting everything back in its proper place, Cole was staring at him with a slightly puzzled expression. "I figured you'd be a little cheerier."

And now Baird was thoroughly confused. He had never directly said anything to Cole, but the man wasn't an idiot. Something told him that he was out of the loop. "Okay, can we back up? We are talking about the same thing, right?"

A few seconds of silence ticked by before something seemed to click with Cole. His smile slowly grew and he began to chuckle. "Oh baby, Sam's been messing with you. Hoffman's transferring us to Anvil Gate, too. See, this wouldn't happen if you didn't always have your tac-com on send only."

Baird locked up for a couple seconds as he tried to figure out what reaction to settle on. He hoped that Cole hadn't noticed the dumbstruck look on his face before he quickly replaced it with one of annoyance. "You bitch…" he grumbled to himself. Then he turned his attention to Cole, trying his best to look disinterested. "So who's all going?"

"Us," Cole gestured to the pair of them, "Sam and Carmine. Some of the local Stranded are getting pissy." He started backing towards the elevator in a not-so-subtle attempt to drag Baird out of the isolation of his garage. Baird followed him anyway.

"What about Marcus and Anya? I figured Hoffman would jump at the chance to get the old crew all back together."

Cole's grin faded. "I think he wants to give Marcus a bit of a break. Y'know, after all he's been through."

Ah, yes. Everybody's favourite euphemism, so they could avoid saying the names of Dom and Adam Fenix. Those wounds hadn't healed yet; sometimes Baird wondered if they ever would. But then again, he rarely ever saw the sergeant without Anya—so there was proof a person could move past tragedy.

They stepped into the elevator. "Old bastard's getting soft," Baird remarked, folding his arms across his chest.

"Baby, you're all heart."

"Yeah, you know me." Baird was already mentally organizing his kit bag. And trying to figure out just how he'd be repaying Sam's little ruse.