a/n: Quincy explains about the fake story, and they very slowly get to the Mim Center.

Editing? Nah, we good.

All the good things belong to Monolithsoft, although the Quincy headcanon is increasingly AU.

Hope stopped to stare at Quincy in astonishment. The dolly kept rolling and gently nudged the back of her legs, making her stumble. She took a firmer grip on the handle and resumed pulling, head drooping. "I'm amazed," she said softly. "Your story sounded so real. You fooled me." One more time she was terrible at recognizing things, she thought.

Quincy placed his hand on hers, and she looked over at him. He was staring down the busy street, tugging their slow moving cargo out of the way of a skell several sections away. "Thanks," he said distractedly. "I was doing my best." As the dolly drifted into a safer lane, he gave her a little more space. "It wasn't exactly made up," he continued. "We actually went to the movies and, yes, she was perfect. That was real. Is real. She's perfect."

"No one is perfect," said Hope.

"For my limited heart, she is."

The transportation cart had reached a steady and easy speed, so they were able to walk and talk normally. "The rest? It actually happened to my parents," Quincy explained. "Their first date. I borrowed the story because, man, did my dad love to tell it."

"So Gwin was right," Hope pointed out. "She's like your mom."

Quincy shuddered involuntarily. "God forbid. My mom wasn't the most ... tolerant of people. But she was funny."

They had reached the Curator's Corner, different from the division tent. The official tent was better known for its endless poker game than for its research. This other bay was crammed with benches, balances, meters, and machines that went ping, serving as an emergency testing center for suspect items and soldiers. It was located next to the Mediator's tent. That wasn't how Hope and Quincy had become friends, but was an advantage. Had been an advantage, Hope thought, as Quincy helped a flurry of fellow researchers clear the dolly. By tomorrow, it wouldn't matter if they were standing shoulder to shoulder, at least not to Quincy.

It had taken just as little time to offload the lake samples as Quincy had predicted. Quincy didn't waste any time with the other Curators, and they didn't seem to have much curiosity about his early return. The two friends were walking on toward the Mimeosome Maintenance Center before Hope could have pulled her comm device and checked her inbox, not that it had crossed her mind to do so. She was here for Quincy, and she wasn't going to let herself be distracted.

She wasn't wrong in thinking he needed someone beside him. He began speaking the moment they left the research area, continuing the earlier topic without a pause. "Look, Hope, if they do figure it out, if you figure it out, be good to her. She isn't to blame. I really do love her but I also really don't mind not being her special person." He peered down the busy alley, taking in the view of soldiers hustling, skells stomping, xenos darting uncertainly, all the wonders of the busy city. "I really hate mims sometimes," he said inadequately.

"This is so unfair!" burst out Hope, unable to remain completely calm.

"It sucks," agreed Quincy. Maybe they would have continued reassuring each other about the unfairness of it all, but Quincy had to cough, not a small hacking sound, but rich and deep. He swallowed hard at the end. "But it is what it is. We should probably walk a little faster."

Hope and Quincy walked down the alley, keeping to the side closest to the mim center since it was less crowded. They passed the ramp to the East Gate, and Hope imagined, as she always did, that a breeze carried the smell of grass into the metal city. They passed the barracks with its clutter of active skells. Hope was glad that no one stopped them for a chat. The Mim Center wasn't far now, just a few steps more, but in spite of Quincy's urgency, they were making bad time. He wasn't coughing regularly, but his steps slowed as they went along. Something about the way he moved seemed heavy, even painful. Hope worried how much he was fighting to manage each step.

The street grew quieter and quieter. They passed one last crowd in front of the mission board, then only a few people moving purposefully from one official building to another. No one lingered in front of the Mim Center. She could see its steps now, lit by the late morning sun, trying but ultimately failing to look bright and cheerful.

No one wanted to linger on those steps, but Quincy had to stop to catch his breath. He looked up at the center, one of the tallest buildings in NLA, tipping his head back far enough that his shaggy hair brushed his collar. Suddenly, he lurched sideways. He caught himself quickly, but Hope wasn't going to risk letting him fall. He probably doesn't need the help, she thought. She latched onto his elbow, mostly to steady him, but for a moment he leaned hard on her, the metal of his armor catching on her denim jacket. Quincy always wore fairly heavy gear, at least for a Curator. Not Harrier level, but certainly more than the minimum t-shirt and fatigues most Curators favored. Hope could feel him shaking through the layers of flak jacket and blast plates.

"I need to ...," Quincy managed between gasps that were more worrying than any coughing.

"We can sit a moment," Hope said in a voice so calm it could have been a recording. She regularly needed this professional voice, but right now she hated it.

Quincy shrugged a negative, pushing her off of him only to immediately lean back into her. He hadn't looked at her the entire time, eyes closed as he tried to regain his balance. She held his elbow again, more firmly, winding her arm through his, and steadying him with her other hand.

He shook again, purposefully this time. "I gotta ask you something. My last chance." He opened his gentle eyes and looked at her. In fact, from that point on, he never stopped looking at her, as if that was supporting him as much as Hope's arms. Hope didn't mind, looking back as earnestly, willing him to recover whatever strength he needed to make the request.

"My family. I can't stand the thought of forgetting them," Quincy said.

"You won't forget," Hope tried to reassure him.

"But I'll forget why I cared. Afterwards, they'll be nothing better than strangers. No one will be left who loves them."

Hope wished with all her heart that she could do more than stand there. Quincy was pulling away slightly, regaining his composure. He really had never needed her help, she knew, but still she kept her eyes locked on his.

"Can I ask you something? Something impossible? It's not for me, but for them? I need to ask you."

"Ask," Hope said.

a/n: Original title was Dead Man Walking but that felt like a bit much.

Next up: We all want to know what Quincy's question is.