a/n: Four soldiers flying home, discussing their problems. (Quincy's problems.)

All the good things belong to Monolithsoft.

There was a delay before they took off. Hope hated every second of it. Gwin was trying to talk about Quincy's condition like it was the most interesting celebrity gossip he'd ever heard, Doug was barking increasingly angry requests into his comm device, and Quincy couldn't quite meet her eyes. She alternated between hovering over him, sending Gwin to do extra pre-flight chores, and doing those same unnecessary chores herself.

It was a relief when Doug ordered them into their skells. They lifted up from the site, swept clean except for seven habitat and supply crates ready for another team to reclaim. As a matter of fact, they passed the pick-up crew a minute into their flight, trajectories crossing over the dunes, and it was a pleasure to hear Barrett absolutely blister them about being late over the shared comms. Then he settled into silence as they left Sylvalum behind and aimed their skells towards New Los Angeles.

That wasn't to say the flight was silent. Hope gave regular weather updates, pointless in today's bright and calm weather but still a responsibility she took seriously. Doug sent the briefest of reports to NLA, shared (mostly) with all the team. Quincy said nothing, adding only the rare, small cough. He had fiddled with his inhaler while they had waited at the camp site, but Hope hadn't seen him take another puff from it. She hoped that was a good sign, although she wasn't sure. She hadn't had the nerve to do a lightning round of research to refresh her understanding of petalose syndrome while they were waiting, and it was too late to look it up now.

That would have been it, if it weren't for Gwin. Irrepressible, chattering due to nerves, Gwin filled the air with his comments. It had been almost comforting at the start, listening to him rag on the Reclaimers, point out his favorite indigen, make small talk about the beauty of the shore. However, once they had crossed into the ocean section of the their journey, he started on the topic he was obviously dying to discuss. "Well, it all sucks, Quincy, but you'll be fine."

There was silence in response. This didn't stop Gwin.

"I know it'll be fine because a friend had it. I'm not naming names but when he finally decided to do something about it, like you, he was FINE by the weekend. Maybe a little shy around girls, but that wasn't a big change." The small screen on Hope's dashboard showed Gwin's face, smiling and encouraging and willing things to turn out right. "It was fine," he repeated.

Doug was the one to answer, carefully. "When was this? On the Whale?"

Gwin looked distracted. "What? Yeah, it was during the flight, maybe about a year after we left Earth. He didn't fall for anyone after that. He dated a few people, I think. He was fine." No one had to ask if his friend had survived the crash landing on Mira. Gwin's fixed smile and bright eyes told them all they needed to know.

Hope was scanning the three feeds from her teammates' cockpit videos. Gwin was cheery, Doug was impassive, and Quincy ... he looked so tired it broke her heart. Quincy opened his mouth to reply, but closed it quickly on a small cough.

Doug's skell swerved to the side, closer to Gwin's. It was funny, how most pilots started to use the skells' motions in place of human body language. The more you used them, the more you felt a skell was part of yourself. Douglas' skell tilted so that it seemed like he was talking confidentially to Gwin. His voice was calm over the joint comms. "It's different here. We don't have full access to the Lifehold."

Gwin cackled. "LOL." Gwin actually said that, sounding it out like '"lawl". "Like we have any acc..." Doug's skell swerved too close and clipped Gwin's by accident. Gwin's comm cut out suddenly, replaced by a thin static.

"So it works differently," Doug said, correcting his course but still awfully close to Gwin's ride. Gwin answered with irritated static. Doug was busy correcting his flight and fell silent.

Hope was readying herself to explain the terrible facts to Gwin when Quincy cut in. "They can't remove the specific feeling, so the only way is to remove all feelings."

"Oh, Quincy," Hope said sadly.

Quincy's voice was sharp and justifiably a little angry. "I know it's the right thing. I know. Dying for love is beautiful but stupid." (Clearly he had told himself this many times before, and Hope wanted to believe it helped him to repeat it.) "But I really didn't want to ... you know... leave all my emotions behind. I'll lose everything I ever loved."

"Wait, you lose all your emotions? Like, all of them?" Gwin's voice was sharp enough to cut through the static.

"Pretty much. Yeah," Quincy said with resigned finality. "I will lose all of them." Hope didn't think he was speaking to anyone but himself.

Gwin was staring, probably at Quincy's display on his own dash. The static had faded and his voice was clear again. "So you'll just turn into some cold, heartless scientist?"

Quincy nodded. "If I'm lucky. I might not even manage that. Good research requires a lot of curiosity. It's not exactly passion, but sometimes it feels like emotion. I don't know if that part of me will survive."

"Well that just blows," blurted Gwin.

"Sucks, man," Doug rumbled in agreement, "but I'd still want you on my team, with or without feelings."

Quincy laughed, with only a trace of a cough. "Thanks. I'm not sure the Harriers need another emotionless killing machine, even if I had the right combat skills. Maybe I'll end up with the Interceptors afterwards. Your friendly pest control services and all that."

Gwin piped up loud and clear. "Hey, we don't need that kind of insult."

a/n: Short. My excuse is the wind is taking out my internet. Emphasis on excuse.

Next up: Everyone: Just tell the girl already! Quincy: No.