*Wyl*

He couldn't just keep standing there in the hall like an idiot. The last thing he wanted was for someone to see him right now, especially Robbie. He needed to be alone someplace, somewhere he could calm down and think. His feet moving before his mind caught up, he began heading towards the shop.

There were always things to work on in the shop, and it was so large that despite employing fifteen different mechanics, you could usually find something to do by yourself. Wyl was currently the engine specialist, and he was given his own, smaller shop to work on things in, from entire engines to casings to custom modifications. He walked inside, shut the door behind him, and closed his eyes.

Wyl tried to calm himself down, but relentless energy coursed painfully through his body. Specks of light flashed in front of him, and his breathing was loud and hoarse. Needing some sort of release, Wyl grabbed the closest tool in one hand and hammered it savagely against the wall behind him, beating it until he felt the polymer give beneath the onslaught. He kept going, though, smashing on the wall until he broke through the plastic completely and exposed the metal hull beneath it. The impact of the tool on the solid hull numbed his entire arm, and he dropped the wrench he'd grabbed as a spasm of pain shot up to his shoulder. He dropped to the floor right there, propped up against the door, waiting for a little clarity. The pain helped.

It was hard to know what to think, how to organize his thoughts...start easy, start small. The good news was that Robbie wasn't going to be court-martialed or brigged or whatever the hell those guys called it. The good news was people in his chain of command still thought highly of him. The good news was that he was being offered a job which he really wanted and which people really wanted him to take.

The bad news? The mere thought of Robbie leaving him, even for a day, was horrible. It was illogical, it was pathetic, it was selfish but it was true. Maybe Wyl had PTSD or weird codependence issues, but the thought of Robbie jaunting off to another planet and leaving Wyl behind made him physically ill. Why?

Because you're a selfish whining asshole, Wyl's internal voice shouted at him. What the fuck is wrong with you? Six months? What is that? Nothing! People spend longer in cryo, moving from system to system. Six months is a pittance, a tiny fraction of your life. Buck the fuck up. Your worry doesn't matter; your insecurity is just that: yours. Don't screw things up with him by keeping him from what he loves. He won't thank you for it.

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

Some tiny logical section of Wyl's brain suggested that he talk things over with Robbie before he came to any conclusions, but it was drowned out by the clamor of all the rest of him. He scrubbed one hand over his face, unsurprised by the tears he felt on it. He was a bloody mess. There was no way he could face anyone right now, he'd just break down and embarrass himself more.

Fumbling at his collar, Wyl activated his comm. "Leesie Paulsen." The system connected him to her device in moments.

"This is Marshal Paulsen."

"Leesie, it’s Wyl."

"Wyl! Have you found Robbie? How is he?"

"No, I haven't...listen, something big just came into the shop, and they really need me for it. It's kind of an emergency. I won't be able to make the opening. If you see Robbie, tell him not to bother about me, just to have a good time."

"You sound a little strange." He could almost hear her frown. "Is something wrong? Do you want me to come—"

"No," Wyl interjected quickly. "It’s fine, I'm just going to be really busy for a while. Talk to Robbie for me, 'kay?"

"Okay..."

"Thanks." He turned off the comm and slumped down for a long moment, head against his knees. He needed the time alone to regain his composure. Work would help. Wyl loved working with machines; they were so uncomplicated when compared to people. Find a problem, fix it. Something's wearing out, replace it. Too far gone to save? Get a new one. Fuck, if he was a machine, he'd probably put himself in the last category. Wyl didn't know how Leesie and Robbie handled dealing with people all day, usually people who were afraid of them.

Wyl was socially stunted. He'd been strange even as a kid, and his parents' suicides and his subsequent destructive bender didn't help matters any. As a bonder, he hadn't been given a psych eval in years. He wondered what would turn up if he were to get one now.

Designation: total fucking wimp. Treatment plan: spine implant.

Wyl sighed and stood up. He went over to his latest project and picked up where he'd left off on it, moving mechanically, trying not to think too hard. It was a special project, a custom engine casing for a wealthy resident. He wanted a phoenix etched into the metal. Wyl had never considered himself an artist, but he could make metal tapdance on command if he wanted it to, and it wasn't difficult to figure out how to get the guy's design to look right. He worked on the engine casing for hours, losing track of the time until his comm buzzed.

Wyl looked down at the designation. It was Robbie. The man he didn't want to talk to right now, except that he did. He might have answered if he'd had any idea of what to say. So he ignored it. Five minutes later, the comm buzzed again. Wyl drowned the sound out with his molecular spanner.

Robbie tried once more, a few hours later. Wyl checked the time. It was nearly eight, well into T's opening. Robbie was probably there. Wyl hoped he'd stay there, and not come looking for him.