a/n: Quincy is in dire need of help, and NLA provides its finest soldier.

All the good things belong to Monolithsoft, but I'm not looking up who is standing next to Nara on the outlook.

Hope realized what was happening a second too late. She grabbed for Quincy's arm, but it was limp and provided no purchase. His arm slipped her grasp. She managed to catch his shoulder, digging her fingers into the seam of his shirt, but the momentum was already too much. Maybe she could dive with him and roll the two of them away from the edge? They would end up in a tangle on the ground, but that was better than risking him falling. They weren't that close to the edge, were they?

His fall stopped with a suddenness that made Hope bump against his side. Someone had caught his other shoulder. She looked across Quincy's body and saw a scarred face, craggy, with eyes that blazed like black diamonds. "Oh, Secretary Nagi!" she breathed.

"Let's see what we can do for him," replied Kentaro Nagi, Secretary of Defense for New Los Angeles. Together they worked to lower Quincy safely to the ground, although it was more a guided collapse than any delicate settling.

Hope looked Quincy over, trying desperately to understand what had gone wrong. His eyes were open, but he wasn't responsive when she slapped his shoulder, calling his name. She gripped his hand, squeezing hard, in case he had momentarily forgotten his name. Quincy's skin was cold, not just his fingers but his arm as well. He was still breathing, she was glad to see that, without the rasping that had brought them back to NLA, but shallowly. It was like he was doing everything in the smallest way. He wasn't exactly panting, wasn't exactly shivering. His muscle movements felt more like twitches and his lungs provided irregular sighs. Yet he wasn't unconscious. His eyes were open and trying to focus, but the motion was jerky, stopping and starting.

Across from her, Nagi was also trying to get a response. "Soldier. Respond," barked Nagi. There was no response. "Hmmm, a bad case," Nagi said to himself.

Hope was leaning over Quincy, a hand against his cheek. The chill from his skin made her fingers tingle. She twisted to beg Secretary Nagi for an answer. "What's happening?" She caught herself. "What do you want me to do?" she asked more calmly.

Nagi didn't explain. He reached over and grabbed her arm. He rolled up her sleeve, pushing it roughly past her elbow into an uncomfortable bunch. Then he lifted Quincy's limp arm, the one nearest hers, and shoved it against her own. He guided the two limbs so that they were positioned wrist to elbow, wrist to elbow, slightly twisted but not uncomfortable. Hope instinctively gripped Quincy's arm as if she were saving him from the fall they had so narrowly avoided. Nagi grunted his approval.

The cold from Quincy's skin was painful. She held on even tighter. "Don't let go," ordered Nagi unnecessarily. He rose to his feet and the next moment he was half way to the transport helicopter.

Hope didn't move, keeping her arm locked tight to Quincy's, ignoring the burn of the cold. She kept looking to see if Quincy responded. She brushed a strand of gold brown hair away from his eyes, counted his respiration, tried to sense the movement of mim fluid that was the closest they had to a pulse. Nothing seemed to be improving. If anything, Quincy's eyes were flickering more slowly.

Secretary Nagi knew what was going on, she told herself. Nagi would fix it. She felt as miserable as when she had been eight years old, praying that Padre would be able to help the battered street cat she had carried home one day.

Quincy blinked. It was slow and he only did it once, but that was more than that long dead tomcat had managed for her. She said his name, not expecting a response. She didn't get one.

Nagi returned and resumed his position on the other side of Quincy. "How did you let it get this bad?" He started to pull up Quincy's shirt, untucking it from his waistband and lifting it toward his chest. "Do not let go of his arm," he added sternly.

Another BLADE had joined them, not as quick as the Secretary, but to Hope's great relief the man was hauling a large medi kit. A fellow Mediator, known more for his brawn than his paramedic skills. He joined them, crouching near Quincy's shoulders. He popped the case open and rummaged through it.

"You'll find it on the lid. Square, about 15 cm," advised Nagi without looking up from Quincy. He'd stripped off his dress gloves and had his bare hands pressed against Quincy's stomach.

"Got it," replied the other man. He had pulled out a square flat packet, like an oversized gauze pad, and was ripping it free.

An AED defibrillator pad? But mims didn't have heart attacks, thought Hope. Oh, Quincy, what is it with you and your tender heart?

Nagi didn't remove his hands until the first-aider was hovering over Quincy's stomach, ready with the large square adhesive pad. A wordless nod and they switched places. Hope was ready for Nagi's next order. "Ms. Alanzi, get clear of the patient." She released Quincy's arm and scooted back, but not without giving his elbow a secret squeeze.

"Clear?" asked the large Mediator.

"Clear," Nagi confirmed. The sight of him, already pulling on his formal white gloves, reassured Hope. Part of her, the unexpected imp, was also furious. Nagi might feel assured of the success of his actions, but she wasn't ready to relax.

There was something not quite right about the procedure. Hope was certain there should be a second pad, closer to Quincy's misbehaving organ. Her first aid knowledge might be three years out of date, but AED pads weren't that large, almost covering from hip bone to ribs. Hope repressed the urge to correct them. The two men were working in agreement and she had to trust that. She wished she were part of the team.

"He'll need to go to the Mim Center after this," said Nagi.

"No!" Hope wasn't sure she should be proud of how well she stopped herself from grabbing Quincy's hand, or how ashamed that she very narrowly didn't. "No, he's only just come from there. They might misunderstand."

"They let him leave in this condition?" Nagi asked with fine disgust. He held up a hand to prevent her response. "Time?" he asked the other helper.

"Twenty seconds more."

Nagi managed to pack a number of questions into that twenty seconds. When had they left the MMC? Where had they been before? Where had they gone after leaving? How long were they in the BLADE Tower? Hope answered everything precisely and calmly, her eyes never leaving Quincy's face. Quincy didn't appear to be in pain. In fact he didn't seem to be responding to the shocks (or whatever was happening) at all. She rubbed her arm. It tingled and her muscles ached with a dull exhaustion, but at least the skin felt like its normal temperature again. Quincy's skin had been freezing.

"Time," stated the medic, reaching past Nagi to peel off the pad. Hope noticed that there were no wires connecting it to the medi kit. So it wasn't a defibrillator? "What was that doing?" she asked belatedly.

Nagi ignored her. He was staring down at Quincy. "How are you doing, soldier?" He slapped Quincy firmly on the shoulder.

Quincy blinked several times. Hope's angry imp muttered silently, Sure, for Nagi he flutters his eyes like a debutante. You get one measly blink, but for Nagi...

Quincy coughed slightly and tried to speak. "Uh, sir, fine ..." His speech was unclear. He rolled his head to one side, slightly and apparently with some effort, but it was enough to be allow him to see Hope better. He swallowed and spoke again, sounding more like himself. "Sorry, Hope. I think I got dizzy?"

"Let's get you sitting up, young man," said Nagi. Hope joined him in helping Quincy sit up, each with an arm under Quincy's shoulders. Hope was delighted to notice that his skin had its normal pleasant warmth.

Quincy's head bobbed a bit, dipping toward his chest as they pulled him up, but in a second he was sitting quite naturally, only leaning slightly into Hope. "Wow, yeah, sorry. I guess the day finally caught up with me."

"Your energy stores were practically drained, soldier," Nagi said critically.

"Oh!" Hope blushed with the sudden realization. Quincy had been almost knocked out because his artificial body was out of power! "I didn't recognize the symptoms!" Her blush deepened from shame. She should have spotted this from the start. The pad: an emergency charger. Quincy's slow responses: almost no internal energy. The twitching: reallocation of the few stores left to keep his core systems functioning. The burning chill from his skin: not low temperature but his body's frantic attempt to suck power from Hope's own mim.

"I'm so sorry, Quincy. I obviously need to refresh my medical training," she said quietly, half to him, half to herself.

Nagi had sharp ears. "I haven't seen a case this serious since Earth. The construction team, you realize, would occasionally work past..." He cut himself short; in his experience, no one wanted to be reminded of the scramble to escape the catastrophe. "Time to get you on your feet," he said briskly. He counted, and on three they stood up as a unit. The medic offered to take over the job of propping up Quincy, but Nagi sent him away.

Hope was grateful for his tact, until his next statement. "And now the Mim Center for you, soldier," said Nagi, steering them toward the path they had so recently traveled. The only path Quincy had traveled, in one sense. Hope rebelled at ending such a brief chance at salvation. He had almost escaped his fate, but she was sure that if they re-entered the center, there would be no avoiding the removal of his emotions.

"Please, couldn't we let him rest outside? On a bench, perhaps?" Every bench, every chair, in NLA was designed to charge their mims. Restaurants were for recharging, socially and emotionally, but also literally: every lunch hour was also a hour of direct recharging. It was so normal that most people didn't even think about it.

Nagi was having none of it. "This man needs more that that. He needs a full recharge, and possibly an examination to find the cause of his condition."

Hope had known that a rest on a bench wouldn't be enough, but she wasn't going to give up. "As a start," she countered, "while we consider his options."

She got unexpected assistance from Quincy. "She has a point. I'm not sure I trust those people not to steal anything more from me. My brain, my pants, what next?" He was speaking carefully, slurring his words by the end and sagging a little heavier against Hope. She tried to take enough of the weight so Nagi wouldn't notice.

Foolish hope. Foolish Hope. Nagi all but snapped at them. "He needs 12 hours direct charging, minimum. I'm surprised you've forgotten this much first aid, Ms. Alanzi."

"Her name's Hope," muttered Quincy.

"Quite," said Nagi, steering them relentlessly towards the Mim Center.

Hope pushed down her worry, pushed down her exhaustion (she suspected that Quincy had managed quite a surreptitious energy transfer from her, layered on top of natural weariness from an early morning and the battle of bureaucracy). "I'm concerned that the Center might not acknowledge the experimental procedure he went through this morning. They might insist on continuing a more standard approach, one we (she corrected herself), one he wanted to avoid."

"What treatment?" Nagi asked sharply.

Hope hesitated. "Petalose thingy," slurred Quincy.

"Ah. My condolences," said Nagi.

Quincy continued. Even slurred, he sounded amused. "It's okay. Scarecrow, not Tin Man. Why do I know that?" He stumbled and Hope held him tighter.

Hope explained quickly. "The novel treatment removes memories rather than emotions. It prevents the trigger for release of the catalyst, avoiding the respiratory failure cascade. Dr. Pelias assured ..."

"Pelias is involved?" Nagi interrupted. "That changes things."

a/n: Sadly, I will not explain why it changes things.

Next week: Columbo and ONLY ONE BED.

Narrator's voice: She will now be playing 40 hours of XC3 dlc.