a/n: We get Quincy tucked into bed.

Editing or Zelda? I know my choice.

All the good things belong to Monolithsoft.

The door slid shut, sealing them into a bubble of quiet. They both stood in the small floor space for a long moment. Once the Secretary left taking all his driving force, once the bustle of BLADE tower was gone, once the officiousness of the MMC was escaped, Hope found that she didn't want to act at all. Heaven only knew what Quincy was thinking, if he was managing to think at all. He stared at Hope, but something in his eyes suggested that he wasn't quite seeing her.

"We need to get you into bed," announced Hope. If she couldn't act, she could at least state what needed to be done, and maybe that would be enough to trick herself into motion. It was. She shuffled around Quincy, pulling back the covers (she thanked her good habit of making the bed so neatly before leaving on any mission), tossing an armful of stuffies onto her desk chair. She looked over at him. He hadn't moved. He was still standing there, swaying a little now, but at least he was following her with his eyes. She smiled and nodded. He looked back at her, a little panicked.

She clasped her hands in front of her chest, almost prayerfully. It was a defensive gesture, she had to admit this, but other people seemed to find it encouraging. "Do you need help getting ready?"

Quincy shook his head and took a deep breath. "I'm sorry. I don't think I know what I'm supposed to do." He attempted a shaky laugh. "So, yes, help would be appreciated."

Hope nodded back at him. "Right. We'll just start by getting your shirt off. Remember? Secretary Nagi mentioned it," she half-asked.

Quincy looked worried. He rubbed the shirt fabric along his stomach, stretching it from side to side. "If you say so. Didn't we go through a lot of trouble to get me this shirt in the first place?"

"No one's going to steal it from my room." Hope looked very serious at this point, keeping her mouth firm and eyes wide. Quincy's laugh in response was more certain and he dropped his hands to his sides. "Here. Let me help. Arms up!"

His response was a muffled thank you, because immediately she had grabbed the hem and lifted it up, off his chest, over his arms. There was a moment when they were bumping a little too close and Quincy had sat suddenly on the bed in front of her, shirt bunched around his ears. All she could see was the tips of his hair. Ripples of fabric covered his face. He flailed his arms, not wildly, more of a gentle drifting motion. "Look, Hope," he said unclearly. "I'm a filter feeder." He stood up tall, wiggling his fingers high above them. Suddenly she could see it: he was an underwater creature, swaying in an invisible current, the room an aquarium of safety. Did that make her a mermaid? Hope laughed at the thought and tugged the shirt up along his arms. He twisted when the fabric caught on his shoulders, built broad and not just because of armor, so she helped by pulling the hem up the edge of his ribs. He wasn't ticklish, to her great relief, and his skin didn't have its earlier chill.

One moment later he was free of the troublesome garment. "I fell like it should have gone 'pop' or something," he said. His face was flushed and his hair was a fluffy bird's nest. Hope laughed again. He was always planning to get a haircut but he never managed to find the time. Hope reached up to help smooth his hair a little. It wasn't much of a reach since they were about the same height. It was only a momentary gesture, but Quincy got the same idea at the exact same moment. It was suddenly too crowded again. Hope stepped back as much as she could, allowing Quincy to shake his head hard enough to fluff his hair all over again.

"Now what?" he asked, flicking his shaggy bangs out of his face.

Hope decided they could take a few chances with skin contact and bed recharging and the issue of pants. Namely, she didn't raise the topic and Quincy understandably didn't even think to ask. She got him to sit down and explained about shoes and socks and how to remove those. Quincy was looking tired again, slowly pushing the quick release buttons on his left boot and tugging the sock off. Then he sat, staring at the sock in his hand until Hope prompted him to try it with the other foot.

That went more quickly. He managed a quick grin, then sighed and started to slide off the bed. "Oh no no no," insisted Hope. She darted in to shove him towards the pillows, and he crashed gratefully. His eyes were already flickering closed as she helped him lift his legs onto the bed, tucking them under the edge of the covers. He sighed deeply. "Why do I remember Shakespeare and sea invertebrates but not beds and socks?"

"Move away from the edge," she encouraged him. "I don't think you'll fall out but I don't want to risk it."

"Thanks for all of this," he muttered, rolling towards the wall. His head sunk into the farther pillow and he stopped moving abruptly.

Hope bit her lip in shock. Tearing across his back, just below his shoulder blades, was an ugly scar, puckered and deep. She stared until she noticed the steady rising and falling of his chest. She hastily tucked the covers up around him, hiding the old injury.

Several months back, Quincy had been the only member of his team to survive an ambush. They'd been lured into a trap in order to be robbed, by a fellow human no less. In that one attack, he'd lost his support, his colleagues, his best friends. Hope knew he'd struggled to survive the betrayal, but she'd always thought he'd escaped untouched physically.

She really didn't know enough about him.

She looked down at him, checking to make sure the blankets were placed comfortably around him. She fought the urge to smooth them over his shoulders any further. He wouldn't notice, of course; there wasn't a flutter of eye movement under his closed lids. Any moment he'd start snoring. She stood there, not staring at Quincy so much as considering her options. What now? She had a tiny desk and uncomfortable chair, mostly used for storing laundry and currently piled with random stuffed animals. She could get some work done there, if she pushed them onto the floor. Usually she would flop onto her bed, using a lap desk and putting her feet up while pouring over client notes.

She considered harder. She could do that now. The bed was certainly big enough. She could be very quiet.

"Quincy?" she asked, very very quietly.

One eye popped open immediately, to her great surprise. "What can I do for you?" he said. His voice was steady and calm. He wasn't quite focused, but Hope suspected if necessary he would jump to his feet in a second (or at least try to). She reminded herself that he had been a member of Earth Defense Forces not so many years ago; he rarely let that side show but right now Hope realized this very clearly.

"Would you mind sliding over? Then you can go back to sleep," she asked. No sooner said than done. Hope had a proper excuse to smooth the coverlet, then sat gingerly on the edge of the bed. She shucked her off her own boots, then leaned against the headboard to toggle the power output from I to II. She probably should have done that earlier, although it wouldn't have increased the rate Quincy could store energy.

She settled down and immersed herself in work. Quincy slept. There was a raft of unread emails on top of the mission reports and the issues from Quincy's novel situation. She lost herself in all the pieces and parts that made NLA safe and cared for.

Mission report, request to Doug to check the sleep mats for flaws, draft on upgrading the same mats, draft regarding MMC intake improvements and new advocate role. String of texts to Nicole, reassuring, getting input. Short notes with her thoughts on Xe-dom consciousness compared to Oc-serv responses. Work gossip with Lara, not just about today's fracas she had noticed in passing.

She took the time to give a serious read of Pelias' technical explanation, possibly a mistake because Ma-non email tended to improve any device it was sent to. Did her screen glitter like that before? Programs seemed more responsive now, but she had to reenter several passwords. She brushed that minor worry away. The report repeated Pelias' promises: Quincy's memories were being examined and tested in a model external version, and Pelias would sort out the proper thread to pull, so to speak. Pelias was gracious enough to admit that he couldn't be certain (although there was a strong hint that he felt otherwise). Quincy would need to confirm that everything was correct before anything was removed; Pelias didn't admit to being able to see the contents of memories. He could measure and track intensity, and when Quincy identified the proper target, Pelias would diminish the connectivity of the memory group. Quincy wouldn't have to forget whoever his special person was, but she would fade in importance enough that the petalose reaction wouldn't trigger.

Hope yawned and set her comm aside. She noticed with surprise how much the light in the room had dimmed. Her room lighting was designed to mimic natural light, changing from brighter to mellow as the day faded. It must be almost dinner time, if she were to guess. She was beat. A quick nap wouldn't hurt. Quincy was tucked under the covers. He wouldn't mind. The bed could charge two. Hope leaned back and closed her eyes. Just a minute.

a/n: How I wish I were playing Tears of the Kingdom right now.

Next up: Table for two!