She had tried to sleep. It was so warm and cozy, lying in the bed with Fletcher’s arm draped over her. There was a comfort to it. Even so, her mind wouldn’t rest. It couldn’t. Eventually, she gave into it, and delicately slid her way from beneath the arm. Sensing her absence in his sleep, Fletcher began pawing around for her, eventually grabbing her pillow and pulling it tight against his body. Her heart warmed a bit, though it didn’t help the issue of her mind.

She padded quietly over to where the crib stood against the wall, checking on Sara. She had a peaceful expression, her face occasionally twitching in her dreams. Content that everything was well and safe, Manon quietly left the room. Grabbing a few choice belongings, she stepped out into the hallway and started making her way to one of the fitness centers. As early as it was, before 0400, the center was empty. She had to turn on the lights as she went into the locker room to get changed. In her workout clothes, a tight fitting pair of shorts and sports bra, she made her way over to hanging bags. She was careful in wrapping her hands. She didn’t worry about the other one, she didn’t need to anymore. Ready, she stepped up to the bag and started to work out her frustration.

One piggy, her hand slammed into the brown bag, causing it to jolt and ripple from the impact. Two piggy, she threw another straight with her right arm, relishing the sensation that worked it was up her arm. Three piggy, another straight, another thud and the bag bounced from the impact. Four, she threw a jab with her left. The bag bounced much farther than before, despite her not intending to hit it that hard. It swung back into position and she started again, repeating her mantra again and again in her mind as she expressed herself into the punching bag. She didn’t know how long she continued this, the words cycling over and over again in her mind. The station slowly woke up around her. Eventually, someone made her stop.

While she had continued hitting the bag, someone had walked up to her side. She didn’t turn to them, focused as she was. Eventually, he called out to her.

“Hey there, killer. Show the bag some mercy.” The voice startled Manon. She knew that voice, had served alongside it for a long time, almost as long as she had served beside Fletcher. When she stopped and turned, she saw a man, both arms from the elbow down given away to cybernetics. Looking up at his face, he had a soulless stare set in the middle of his face, both eyes replaced by more cybernetics, though no effort had been taken to mimic something natural. They were instead just flat cameras. Manon could see the lens adjusting as he looked at her. He had cut his hair. He had used to prefer a much longer style, barely within regulations. Now, he had the sides shaved to the barest of stubble. Atop his head, he carried just a little bit more length. He had worn his hair that way decades ago when they had first met.

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“Tellson!” she said, surprised to see him. She had heard that he had taken a page out of her own book and retired after the Destiny. Looking at him now, she could see that he was enlisted, wearing the standard regulation workout gear.

“Heard you were coming station-side. Didn’t expect to find you here, though,” he said. His eyes flicked down to her hands. “Here, let me help you get the tape off.”

When Manon looked down, she saw that she had bright red spots starting to work their way through the bindings. She hadn’t felt it until he had pointed it out. The two walked over to the bench where her bag rested, and she offered him her hand. He worked in silence, his touch extremely delicate as he unraveled the bindings. When he pulled away the last layer from her knuckles, she took in a sharp breath due to the pain. Her knuckles were bloody and bruised from all of the pounding on the bag.

“In the future, if you are going to go that hard against the bag, use one of the black ones. They are designed for cybernetics.” Manon looked at the bag. On the right, the bag looked fine, but she could see parts where the brown bag she had been hitting had cracked and split on the left, the side of her prosthetic. Tellson reached into her bag and rummaged around a moment, before pulling out a jar of ointment that he started dabbing on the wounds.

“Why did you reenlist, Tellson?” she asked, her voice somber.

He looked up at her. Without his eyes, it was hard to judge exactly what emotion was flickering through him as he spoke.

“It was the quiet. Couldn’t stand it. Re-enlisted six months after.” Manon understood that completely. She had felt much the same. Once things had started to calm down after the wedding, the quiet had been unsettling. She wasn’t left with anything but time. When she found out she was pregnant, it had helped. But even then, she had fallen into another quiet routine. She agreed with what Fletcher had said, as much as it hurt, she wasn’t made for the quiet.

Tellson began carefully wrapping her knuckles in gauze.

“Why are you here, Tellson?” He didn’t look up at her as he carefully maneuvered the new wrappings around her hand.

“Same reason, really. I don’t trust it.”

Manon looked at him for a moment, then turned her head and looked out one of the small viewports by the bench.

“Yeah, I don’t trust it, either.”

When Manon left, the automatic lights flicked off after her.

Arriving back at the apartment, she glanced at the display. It was before 0600, the main room silent and empty. She set her bag down and grabbed the file. When Fletcher woke to the sounds of Sara’s hunger, that’s where he found her, all matted in sweat with one hand wrapped, studying the mission.