*Robbie*

"You're going to make yourself sick," Robbie said aloud. "Stop it." He needed to take his mind off himself. He pulled up the docking log for the day, noting who was arriving, when. Miles' ship should be in any moment. The station master himself was going down to meet him. Bloody fucking perfect. He could pull up the camera array, watch him come in, check to see if... "If what?" Robbie snarled at himself. "If it looks like he's in a good mood?" He erased the log from the desktop. The door opened slightly.

"Sir?" It was Jane's voice.

"What?" he snapped.

"You know that talking to yourself is a sign of dementia, right?"

"You were listening?"

"You were shouting."

"Oh."

She let herself in the door, shutting it behind her. "The last time you lost your temper was right before we went after Wyl. I think you need to do something to calm down before you see the general."

"What do you recommend?"

"There's always the mat room." She smiled and winked. "I won't hurt you too bad. You need to burn off some energy before you sabotage yourself."

Robbie sighed. He knew she was right. It was a rare day when he let his emotions get the better of him at work, and the best cure for it was activity. He still had close to two hours before the review was scheduled. "Fine."

"Good call." Jane pulled him firmly to his feet. "And you better not make it too easy on me this time."

Robbie shook his head and reluctantly smiled. "What's easy for you is punishing for me. I don't know who programmed your combat mods, but they did a damn fine job."

"I trained without them for years before the implants. I keep training now even though they've been removed. Use it or lose it," she said with a shrug. "Now c'mon."

One hour and forty five minutes later Robbie was clean, immaculately dressed, and nursing a bruise the size of Jane's heel across his ribcage. He sat alone in a conference room, waiting for the general and the rest of the review board to join him, staring out at space. Jane had been right, as usual. The workout had been good for his mind, if not necessarily his body. He hardly had enough energy now to worry.

The door behind him opened. Robbie stood up from his chair, repressing a wince, and turned around. He saluted briskly. "Sir."

"Marshal Sinclair." The general returned the salute, then shut the door. "Go ahead and sit down, son." He moved around the table to sit across from Robbie, and Robbie took the chance to examine him. Miles looked a lot like his son, except his hair was silver instead of gold, and short where Garrett wore it long. They were both slender and strong, but Miles was a soldier, and the difference showed in his posture and brisk, crisp movements. There was nothing languid about him, whereas his son practically slid with every step. He set his briefcase on the chair next to him as he sat down, and Robbie refocused his attention.

"No need to wait, let's get down to business."

"What about the rest of the review board, sir?"

"What?" Miles snorted. "All bureaucratic bullshit. There's no need for a goddamn conduct review for me to see that your actions under the circumstances were appropriate. I explained matters to your superior officers and excused them from the board. I'm here to officially clear you, and for another reason." He paused and looked Robbie over appraisingly. "You seem to have taken to your new career very well, from the reports I read."

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"Yes, sir." Somehow Robbie managed to get his mouth to respond even though his brain was still reeling from the sudden exoneration. "It's useful work."

"It is, and not a bad choice for an ex-marine. Frankly, though, it's a waste of your talents." Miles folded his hands. "You were an active duty marine for over twenty five years. You got through officer training with stellar results, you survived more than one fiasco that killed the majority of our men, and you're an effective leader under fire. You were let go because the war seemed to be coming to an end and the Alliance didn't want to keep paying for your expertise."

"The war is over," Robbie said.

"It's over for now," the general corrected him. "There's every likelihood that it will start up again in the next few years, though. We aren't bred for peace, and conflicts inevitably arise when one idiot gets within shooting distance of another." He shook his head. "And now our best officers are working in law enforcement, or as civilians, or in the private sector. We're going to need leadership soon."

"What are you getting at, sir?" It was probably impolite of him to start asking questions immediately, but Robbie had to know.

"I want you to come back to work for the military."

Bam. The punch line. It took his breath away faster than Jane kicking him. Fortunately, the general wasn't waiting for him to respond, because he would've embarrassed himself if he'd tried just then.

"Not as an active-duty officer, not yet," Miles continued. "I don't have the authority to offer you your command back, since we are still technically in peacetime. I want to hire you as a consultant. I want you in the field, gathering intelligence and laying the foundation for a team. You did a stint for military intelligence, didn't you?"

"Five years."

"Three of them undercover, if I remember right. A lot of good came from that operation." The general nodded approvingly. "You have a lot of skills that we could use. I can pay you twice what you're making here, and double that for fieldwork. You'd have to come back to the central system and do a lot of traveling, but you never minded that before. I brought a contract with me." He pulled a thin sheaf of papers out of his briefcase.

Something in Robbie's face must have slowed him down, because Miles just set the contract down on the table instead of pushing him to sign. "Take your time, son. Look everything over. I'll be here for another thirty hours or so. I'm meeting with a contact to discuss smuggling operations here on the Fringe. Get in touch with me before I leave and let me know your decision." He paused. "It's a lot to take in."

"It is," Robbie agreed.

"I'm not sure this opportunity will come again anytime soon," Miles cautioned him. "I'm only allowed a limited number of operatives right now. Think about if it's something you really want."

"Um..." Robbie managed to piece a few connections in his brain together. "What about Wyl?"

"That's the bonder you rescued, right? What about him?"

"Could his bond be transferred again?"

"I doubt it," Miles replied. There was a look of sympathy in his eyes, but he didn't express it out loud. "He's here until he pays off his bond. Once that's done, he can go where he likes, as long as he can pay the travel fees or find a company to hire him on and pay them for him."

He paused for a moment. "Our kind of work is hard on relationships, Robbie. There's no denying that. But its good work, and it's needed." He pulled up the time on the table and sighed. "I've got meetings all bloody day. I have to get to the next one." He closed his briefcase, stood up and walked back around the table. "I'm sorry we couldn't take more time to talk, Marshal. It's good to see you again." He held his hand out and they shook briefly.

"And you, sir. How is Garrett doing?" The question was out of his mouth before he could censor it.

Miles smiled slightly. "He's fine. He's more dolled up than a show dog and more demanding than his mother, but he's doing good work. It keeps him out of trouble."

"Ha."

"Right." He pointed at the contract. "Don't forget that." Then he walked out the door, closing it behind him.

Released from formality, Robbie slumped back down into his chair. That encounter had been the last thing he's expected, the last thing he'd prepared for. Military work again?

He reluctantly picked up the contract and looked it over. The offer was very good, and Miles was right about him having the skills for it. He had loved the work when he'd had it. Being a marshal on a backwater station at the edge of the Fringe didn't come close to comparing. If he'd been given the offer six months ago, he would have jumped on it immediately.

But everything changed after he met Wyl.

Wyl. Fuck. If he accepted the offer, Wyl wouldn't be able to come with him. It was possible he could come back for stints, in between mission, the same way he had with Garrett. Speaking of Garrett, the timing of this whole thing was suspicious, as was the general himself coming out for it. Honestly...didn't he have better things to do with his time than clear Robbie and take meetings? He could have sent an aide. Hell, he could have used a holoscreen; there was no need for him to be here. He wanted to make an impression on Robbie.

Robbie checked the time. He had told Wyl he'd try to meet him for lunch at T's, but he wasn't going to make it. He needed to talk to Garrett.