The old adage 'In space no-one can hear you scream' passed through his mind as he worked. The dim glow of the lights set into the faceplate of his helmet reassured him that he was in no danger of running out of air, that his suit integrity was perfectly fine and that the magnetic plates set into his boots had more than enough contact with the metal hull. He would not be floating off into the abyss today. Even with all this electronic soothing, he was still nervous. EVA was his worst fear. He'd seen enough suit breaches to know he didn't want to end his days at the hands of the unfeeling vacuum of space. He needed the protection of being inside his ship, the knowledge that between him and the never ending was a ridiculously large amount of duralloy, reinforced titanium and steel, and hisability at the controls to change his fate to his liking.

A deep breath, nearly outdoing the dehumidifier built into his helmet, a faint fog on his faceplate disappearing almost instantaneously, and he set back to work. The tool in his hand seemed almost a separate thing, not under his control, the thickness of the gloves he wore muffling any sense of touch or pressure. But, he'd done this enough times that it didn't cause him too much trouble. Sure, he could have ordered any number of tiny droid repair units to seal the gash in the hull, but as much as they would restore it's integrity, they had no concept of ownership, of pride. Flynn
was nothing if not proud of his ship. The Serendipity was his. Period. He shared its corridors and its comforts with his crew, sure, but it was his. He'd worked his whole life to barter, steal, even kill to get his own ship and he wasn't about to let it start looking shabby around the edges.

He worked the laserweld over the seam in the plate almost lovingly, coaxing the metals to combine and seal. Once finished, he swapped the harsh tool for one more gentle, a spray nozzle coating the new plate with the same gleaming white that covered the rest of his ship. Slotting the nozzle back into a pouch on his belt, Flynn stood to admire his work. A mere speck on the vastness of the hull, he nodded his satisfaction to himself and began the slow walk to the nearest airlock, the resonant thud of each step passing through him, and the ship, as the magnets released and attached. He dared not look any higher than the horizon of the hull in front of him. The very sight of the expanse of stars that set the backdrop to this unscheduled repair stop would fill him with dread. One step at a time Flynn old boy, one step at a time.