a/n: Four soldiers on a research mission, no combat in sight. Why isn't Hope relaxed?

All the good things belong to MonolithSoft.

Hope viewed the small base camp uncertainly as she walked towards the edge of the area. She wanted to smile this evening, wanted to relish the relief of relaxing in their momentary home, however limited it was, but she felt a pang of guilt. She seemed to be the only one enjoying this mission, unlike the other three participants.

Four BLADEs on an away mission in Sylvalum, working their hardest for the future of NLA. That was how it should be. Why was she feeling guilty? She was working as hard as they were, more or less. The weather had been dramatic, with several rounds of spore fog that had brought movement to a halt, but otherwise everything had been going well.

Gwin, Hope, Doug, and Quincy, out on a mission. It should have been a chill time; combat wasn't the purpose of the mission, certainly not conflict with the Ganglion. The sleep tent and cook station were perched in the shadow of Ganglion wreckage, a grim reminder of how close they had been to losing everything, but no active enemy traveled in this region. It was on a narrow strip of sand, with the shallow waters of Lake Ciel lapping gently at the level shore on both sides. Hope could sit at the base camp, inputting her notes, and look up to see majestic indigen stride across the lake, but they never troubled the campers.

The heart of the mission was the collection of water samples from the lake. That was Quincy's domain. As the Curator on the team, he was in charge of bottles and measurements and endless samples. Gwin Evans, Interceptor, was tasked with watching his back while he filled vials. If the environment went unstable, due to a rare crimson aura event or a freak Ganglion attack, Douglas Barrett, Harrier, was there to handle anything overwhelming. Which left Hope to balance two tasks: monitoring mechanical indigen and improving her combat skills.

Sylvalum was home to several different mechanical life forms, original to the planet and far older than the newcomers, both friendly and hostile. However, the machines had been commandeered by the Ganglion and persuaded to attack human parties. New Los Angeles wasn't ready to write them off as mindless sentries. Could they have consciousnesses? Were there actions humans could take that could make them allies? Or at least less hostile? It was a decent question, one revolving as much around behavior and society as around mechanics, and the city wanted a Mediator's opinion. Hope was doing her best to observe those big drifting mechanical enemies, although she was far from having any answers.

Observation only lasted so long, however, and here she had to smile a little. Doug was helping her train by going up against the largest things on the landscape. He was but a simple man, he admitted it himself, but she appreciated the lessons deeply. The work pattern was set from the first day. They would trail behind a Xe-dom, with Hope noting everything that seemed to interest the silent sentinel that towered as high as the cliffs. She took pictures, she took measurements, she would list interactions. Eventually, however, the enemy would notice them and attack, at which point she and Doug (mostly Doug) would fight it until it crashed ponderously into the silty dunes. She was proud that she was increasingly helpful, making more of an impact. After each fight, he'd review their actions, plan new strategies, suggest different gear. It was an amazing opportunity, and Hope was making the most of it.

So things should have been chill. They should have all met at dinner and shared news about their work, maybe exchanged photos and then settled in for sleep, with regular watch duty spread equally. It should have been nice. But it wasn't.

Maybe it was because Quincy had to be focused on his work to an uncomfortable degree. He didn't take time to talk to the others, waking up well before dawn, spending the day up to his hips in the water, pulling muck and weedy stuff and filling jars and jars of silt. To hear Gwin talk about it, he wasn't stopping for breaks during the day either. Hope understood why. The extended mission was supposed to be a full Curator team, three people plus some muscle in the form of Barret, but a massive disturbance in Primordian animal populations had pulled the other two Curators off the mission. What had been planned to be a few days of mission instead was now going to last well over a week unless Quincy worked overtime to get the samples collected.

But even considering that, Quincy was going hard. He wasn't just up early, he was coming off the lake late, only to peer into microscopes until the early hours, followed by taking his shift on guard duty. Hope wasn't sure he was getting any sleep.

She was planning to mention it to the others, but as it turned out it wasn't necessary. Barrett must have noticed it, possibly before she had. They were talking when she reached the temporary lab area to tell them that dinner was ready.

"You gotta ease up," Doug had said. He was leaning against the temporary work table, but his big bulk was so carefully settled that not even the smallest sample jar rattled.

Quincy didn't look up from the scope. "Gwin's complaining to you? He can eat his lunch in the skell if the coast is clear. Grab a nap, for all I care. I'm good without his company."

Doug's arms were crossed and he rumbled back, firm but not angry. "No. I'm telling you: no. He can't do his job watching you if he doesn't get breaks. None of us can. You can't." There was a pause. Quincy reached for a dropper without looking, stirred the muck he was examining, kept his head bent low. Doug said, quietly, "You sleeping at all, man?"

Hope should have announced herself, out of politeness, but instead she stood motionless, trying to turn invisible. She was worried, perhaps more than she should be, but she was grateful that Barrett was looking out for the team.

Quincy moved away from the microscope, but didn't look at Douglas. He twisted the lid onto a jar, placed it into a crate carefully next to a hundred identical jars, and reached for the next sample. "I don't have time. You see all of this." He set the sample down for a moment to cover his mouth for a cough, but picked it up immediately and returned to the same investigations as before.

Doug stood up. "You need to slow down. If you wreck your health, you stop being good for future missions. And without sleep you put us all in danger this mission. Isn't that right, Hope?"

Silly woman, she hadn't been invisible at all. "Absolutely. The ECP won't mind if we take an extra week, and I don't have any pressing social events. Not until Tatsu has his quinceañera," she joked.

"Look, you don't want me to throw my weight around, but if I need to, I will. I'll pull the mission."

Quincy finally looked at the two of them. "What do you want me to do? This job won't get done by itself."

"Breaks. Take them, here, at the campsite. You can go as hard as you want, but you stop for lunch, you stop for dinner. And you need to start sleeping."

Quincy nodded several times, not in agreement but rather fighting an internal argument, short little bounces that made his brown hair flutter. "It isn't as easy as all that," he admitted.

Douglas' face darkened for a moment, but he answered gently. "I get that sleeping on away missions is hard, but I need you to try. Catch a nap while Gwin has seconds. He always has seconds."

Hope smiled at both of them, trying to ease the tension. "Speaking of which, you had both better come to dinner before Gwin has fourths."

a/n: I'm hoping to get one or two chapters out each week. Wish me luck, because this thing is going to be long. Quincy is the guy who sings by the elevator shaft. Yes, he will sing in the story, no, it won't be for a while.

Next up: the reason for the title.