a/n: Hope feels the need to explain.

Oops, almost no dialogue.

All the good things belong to Monolithsoft.

They didn't waste time leaving the Mimeosome Maintenance Center. Once Hope gave him the nod, Pelias vanished in a twinkle, faster than a fairy tale spirit. Hope stepped out of the room to give Quincy some privacy, nodding one more time at the technician to indicate that it was his job to assist the patient in every way possible. She suspected he hadn't been the gentlest in the process of getting Quincy back into his clothing. The Curator looked a little flustered, his hair a fine floof, when he staggered out of the room. They had overstayed their welcome and it was high time to leave.

Hope was glad to get some fresh air, but the sunlight revealed how frail Quincy was. She didn't know where his armor had drifted to; he was adequately if unimaginatively dressed in a basic t-shirt, the type they issued to new recruits, along with his normal pants. At least those hadn't abandoned him, unlike his wits. Hope had a giggle lodged in her brain about that, but she didn't share it. More than frail, Quincy was looking rough.

It must be a shock, she reminded herself. Some of the new citizens had similar trouble adapting. It was good that she was there, to help smooth over the worst bits. No need to worry, a trained Mediator was on the job.

The air wasn't really all that fresh outside the Mim Center. Skells stomping and rumbling, the clutch of smokers to one side, a particularly angry argument raging in a cluster of Prospectors. She saw Lara Mara spreading oil on the waters, but she also noted he was flexing his fingers, first open, then clenched in a fist. He didn't mind mediating in a very percussive fashion. Hope hustled Quincy into the side street that led to the front of BLADE Tower.

Half way down, she swerved into a little alcove where she knew they'd could find a little comparative quiet. There was a simple bench, screened from the street by a fence on one side and a stack of shipping crates on the other. She sat down, patted the spot next to her. It took Quincy a moment to follow; his head was swiveling nearly a full 360 degrees, trying to take everything in. When he finally settled himself, she began to give him the basics.

She had done this many times for sufferers from stasis amnesia. She had even done this for a few revivals on the Whale, sleeping specialists that were suddenly needed mid-journey but who hadn't been awake through the original events. NLA's newest citizens needed a different orientation, but even they needed the history lesson. She wasn't sure where Quincy fell on this spectrum, so she went carefully but completely.

Earth, the attack, escape, destruction. Quincy took it well. At least she supposed he did. It had been a while since she'd done the presentation, and her careful defenses were rusty from disuse. She couldn't keep her eyes dry and her voice level, not in the way she was meant to do. She should have been watching him carefully, making sure he was ready for each next piece of the story. Instead, she let her gaze drift into a distance, looking for a planet that was no longer there. It didn't help that it felt natural to talk to him like a friend, unguarded and honest.

The weakness was momentary. She rallied when it came to the ship, the journey, the crash. Planet, war, allies, victory. The briefest version of their current situation. Did he really need to know every detail if his memories were to be restored in a day or so? She felt good about explaining, however. This was her job. This was how she helped. She supposed Alexa might teach him about skells, and Doug would hand him a gun and take him on a mission. Her only tools were sitting and talking.

Quincy had taken it all very well. When she finally remembered to look at him instead of losing herself to her memories, he was attentive and calm, which was why his response to the last section was such a surprise.

"This is bullshit!"

She had just finished explaining about mims and the Lifehold, at least, the official version. Hope wondered if he had noticed her hesitation. He had certainly tensed as she went on. When she explained his specific issues, the situation involving emotions and physical degeneration, he had jumped up from the bench, dragging her with him. When had they started holding hands? She hadn't noticed.

"This is utter bullshit." He waved his hands in agitation, shaking off her hand angrily.

"Quincy!" She sank back onto the bench, but he didn't join her.

He started pacing, back and forth. He turned to look down at her, frowning furiously. "I'm sorry to get crude, but it is. Maybe I could put it more graciously if I didn't need to get my brain reamed out to keep from dying."

"Petalose syndrome is unfortunate...," she began.

"It is absolute, lousy, nannyish bullshit. We can't be trusted to fall in love? They give everyone guns and giant robots and they're afraid of KISSING?"

a/n: I may go short for the next few weeks, because of Life and All It Entails.

Next up: Hope calms Quincy down a little. Oops, all dialogue.