July Writing Challenge: Five words I need to hear

[Admin!]

With the recent outpouring of additional stories about characters on Hammel, I think we should have a writing challenge. To enter, just post a ficlet (300-2000 words) in this thread. When the voting for July's OTM winners comes around, a voting poll will go up for this as well. Winners will get a slot on the awards wall, as well as a microbanner to go in the character's signature of their choosing.

The challenge: Five Words I Need to Hear. They can be any five words, but the character needs to hear them, for whatever reason. This can be interpreted however you want.

The rules:

• Characters must be Hammel-related, but the ficlets are not site canon unless explicitly stated.
  
• Alternative universe interpretations of characters are allowed.
  
• Entries must be between 300 and 2000 words.
  
• You can enter no more than three ficlets.
  
• Ficlets should be titled.

[Dr. James Campbell]

Empty

James looked too old like this.

The harsh florescent lighting in the hospital made James look too weak, too old, and too thin, at least in Chase's eyes. The stock of brown hair that had always stood unruly had long since passed into a limp gray, and he was only wearing his glasses because Chase had put them on him a little while before, hoping it would make his husband look more...

well, look more like Jamie. It wasn't working, though. There wasn't that spark behind his brown eyes, or the smirk that had once graced his lips. But he looked enough like his old self that Chase couldn't imagine how he was supposed to do this.

The first stroke had been traumatic. Chase had come home from the store to find James still in bed, and refusing to wake up. He'd done the physical therapy, and though he hadn't regained his ability to talk, he'd relearned much of his motor skills. Even enough that he could type, or write, albiet sloppily.

That alone had proved maddening. He'd practiced writing for hours, chronicling every thought he felt worthy of sharing with Chase. And seeing how he was still the same James Emrys Campbell he'd always been, that was pretty much all of them. For four years, he'd been silent, but never muted.

The second one had robbed him of much of the fine motor skills, making it almost impossible for him to communicate, except for slow, deliberate typing. That had nearly killed him. But Chase had been there with him, reading to him, talking to him, and making him smile.

But the third one had taken that last bit of Jamie away. The body in the bed looked like him, but there was no fussy nervousness, no OCD, and no kind, mischievous smirk. He didn't care about wordplay or miniature models or his granddaughters. It was just a body and a machine, keeping it going.

Chase sat at his bedside, his fingers intertwined with James', and the side of his face leaning on the cool, white sheets. He was talking, the same way James used to when he was stressing about something.

"Jamie, Niko came by earlier. So did Ginny. The kids wanted to come and see you, but....we don't want them to think of you like this. I hope that's okay. You know they love you so much anyway. You were always their favorite, with your magic tricks and all those models. They're still on the shelf in your study, waiting for you. Harri called too. She wants to come, but she doesn't think she can. She said she's mad at you, because you're her only older brother and you're supposed to be there. Isn't Mike the older one? Well, you're her favorite brother, anyway. You're the one who helped her cheat at Scrabble. Everyone knew you did it, but no one was ever able to figure out how..."

He kept talking, kept rambling, but he had run out of things to say. Finally, he pressed his forehead against the hand that was so thin, the wedding band and engagement ring nearly slid off. "I want you back, Jamie. I want you to sit up and laugh and kick my ass at Scrabble. I even want you to use me as a tool for physical therapy, if it meant you picked out my tie and tied it for me. I wouldn't even care if it was one of your ugly ones that you hid so Ginny and I couldn't toss it." His eyesight began to blur as tears finally welled up. He'd felt so detached, it was good to feel something again. Even if it was this.

"Jamie. I don't know what to do. I don't want to let you go. But...I don't know if you're even still in there. I love you. I need your help." Chase's voice was barely above a murmur, which might have been best, as it was cracked and hesitant. He wanted the long fingers to thread through his hair, and the voice--the one with the New York accent that had faded, but never really gone away--to tell him "You're making the right choice."

But all he heard was his own breath, the bustle from the hospital corridor, and the soft beeping of the machines.

[Ann Hudgins]

The Outreach Program

Ann had been raised with the expectation that people do what they say they are going to do. With that in mind, Ann never depended on anyone to go through with what they told her they were going to do before. She'd always just done it herself, even when she was a little child, she always insisted that she be the one to make the sandwich, not her mother. She spent her high school career fending for herself, which was terribly idiotic, but she did it nonetheless. And when she was just about to explode from all of her problems she reached out for help, and help is just what she got.

Dr. Neville did what he said he was going to do, and gave her a list of names that she could contact via email or snail-mail as a pen pal, because she needed a friend and was unable to actually make one in the real world. He'd came through with the list and gave it to her. It had taken her a few days to actually make contact with anyone of of them. She shuffled the sheets of paper with the contact information into a pile and then threw them up into the air, and closed her eyes. She then took a penny from her pocket and tossed it into the air. She emailed the one it landed on.

His name was Jamie Ambrose. He was from some small town in the farmlands of England and had the power of gravity, or something along those lines. The more she read about him from the file, the more like a stalker she felt. She started writing her introductory email at five in the afternoon in the school library. So, I went to the school shrink...er, I go to Hammel, in Vermont (America) because I'm an empath...and because I am so outrageously out of control of my powers, I can't really...talk to anyone. And the therapist gave me your information (along with a bunch of other people). I sorta picked your name by a coin toss. Don't feel bad--I'm really indecisive. Uhm. I don't really know what else to say...hi?

She sent it at seven forty. It had taken her that long to think of that little paragraph of an introduction. She went to sleep and got through her classes, every other second her mind on that letter she sent and his reaction. As soon as her training session was over she rushed to the library and checked her email. He actually replied. Hi :). Yeah, I have to talk to the therapist here a lot too. But not because of my power. Uhm, how is America? I mean I've seen the Tv and stuff, but I have a feeling it's different than what the media says it is. My therapist here said I should try to make friends as well, because...meh I'm not really good at it either. Thanks for sending the message first. I have a stack of things to pick through and haven't yet...I'm indecisive too.So like...how old are you and stuff? Only child?

She blushed a little as she read the message, though she wasn't really sure why. Her reply was quick as she told the truth, about how America pretty is what the media says it is. She admitted that she was eighteen, with a sadface, and an only child. She told him her father was really active in the marine corp, and she had had a promising life in cross country and track but when her power started up, she hadn't looked at it twice. She asked him all the same basic questions. Over the next couple of days, they kept up the banter, not really getting into it. Then James had asked her, so why did you have to go to the therapist?

She stared at the question for a long time before she began to type it out. My power isn't a turn on or off thing. It's always sucking in people's emotions around me. I don't just get them like radio transmissions and can tell what others are feeling. I take it in and experience it myself. Someone's freaking out about a test, then I'm freaking out about it, regardless of what I actually think about it or anything. I've tried so many things to get around it, but no matter how hard I don't want to really feel what everyone feels, it still happens. It's what turned me into this reclusive shut-in who can't even say 'excuse me' without stammering. The thought of touching people almost makes me cry, and I just....can't function. This power is so stupid and I just wish I didn't have it. My parents hate that I'm meta too, and they'd probably be so much happier if I wasn't, or dead. Which ever one came first. Sorry....you must think I'm crazy or something. She knew she could erase the message and try again, in a less ranting way, but she decided to keep the message like that and send it anyway.

The rest of the night and morning she was holding her breath for her time in the library, much like the first message she had sent to him. When that time came around, she rushed to it, her heart heavy. Because even if they had only exchanged five or six messages together, he already knew her better than the entire student body combined. The page took an eternity to load and once she was finally at her email, the first line of his reply made her heart thud, oddly enough.

I don't think you're crazy.

[Darryl Bond]

Tuesday

It was a regular Tuesday, just any old Tuesday.

Class was done, the script books had been passed out for their small group projects due the next coming Tuesday, and Darryl was enjoying a cup of coffee in the teacher's lounge. It was regular, every-day Darryl behavior. He'd become quite comfortable in this easy schedule of school life, and despite the rocky start with some of his students, he was just finally starting to enjoy having them all around. They were his students now, not just kids taking his class.

He felt good about his life in Pilot Ridge as well. He was happy with his tiny group of friends, stress on the tiny. He was getting to know his coworkers rather well and he was in excellent health. Life was good. Life was average.

The clock just changed from twelve fifteen, to twelve sixteen and he had seen it happen. He blinked again when his phone started ringing. It was a little odd for such a thing, because those he shared conversations with were inside the very building he was in—except for Elaine, but she wouldn't call him unless there was an emergency regarding Morgy, and he was fine, last Darryl saw of him (which was at breakfast)–so he looked at his phone with a frown. It was his mother.

He looked at the phone. Just looked at it. The woman that raised him had turned into....a monster for lack of a better word when he told her he was going to be an actor. She'd wanted nothing to do with him—none of his family had. He couldn't think of any good reason why she'd be calling him now, randomly on a Tuesday. He answered the phone.

“Ma?”

“Darryl!” She let out a gush of air and he could hear the tears in her voice. He started to get a little worried. “How...how are you? You are still acting?”

“I'm a teacher now. At Hammel.” He said, his worry crept into his voice and she sighed into the phone again. Darryl glanced around him, as if the furniture had the answer. He didn't find it.

“Oh? That's wonderful. Is uhm...how is....Megan?”

“Morgan. And he is doing fine.” Darryl rolled his eyes a little at her attempt at a conversation. “Why are you calling me?” He asked. She let out a little squeak.

“I've missed you, you know,” she worded it and spoke it in such a way that Darryl didn't believe her. She didn't just miss him. Something happened, right? Why else would she be calling him now, so early in the morning?

“H...how is everyone?” He asked, his eyebrows knitting together. He wasn't sure if he liked the fact his mother had called him at all. Things had been going so good.

“Your father is uhm...Has started drinking again.” She spoke in the annoyed tone he knew very well. She always seemed annoyed when she used 'your father' instead of 'Papa' or 'Drew'. He shifted in his seat and rubbed his eyes. Every boy wants their father to be proud of him. Darryl always wanted that. Chester, by way of being the oldest and the only boy apart from Darryl got all of Daddy's approval because he was sport oriented and was just generally an achiever. Darryl had had everything handed to him growing up.

'His father' only ever drank when stress from work got too much, or Chester left on a deployment. He's been deployed four times already, though he was never gone for more than a year at a time. “Sorry. He'll come out of it.” He offered as he ran his fingers through his hair.

“Why are you calling, mother?” He asked suddenly. He wanted her to get to the point. It was almost insulting to him that she called out of the blue, telling him she missed him (when she most certainly could not. She thought he was a failure and a reject.) She let out a shaky breath.

“Chester has been shot and--” Her breath hitched and Darryl nearly dropped the phone. What?!

“Is he...is he?” He asked, surprised he even cared as much as he did. He was fairly sure Chester wouldn't bat an eyelash if Darryl got injured (killed?). They had been as close as a six year gap could get them, but when Darryl 'turned meta' Chester detested him like the rest of his family. Did Chester even deserve to have Darryl lose sleep over this? She sobbed into the phone.

“Call said—he won't....won't make it. The area is too...too hostile.” She sobbed, he could picture her face contorting from her crying, her skin turning red. His face fell into his hand. Did that mean if he could get out of the fighting, then he'd survive? Or were his wounds too bad to even get CasEvac'd. He rubbed the insides of his eyes as every fond memory he had ever had with his brother came into his brain.

Teaching him how to tie his shoes, showing him how to hold a baseball bat, showing him the right way to shoot for a basket ball hoop, helping him take off his training wheels, explaining to him what his homework meant when he had trouble. When Chester was there for him, he was a good brother, and at the time, Darryl loved him as a little brother did. But....when he turned meta, all of that was just...null. No one of his family could really look past it, and he spent his years at Hammel severed from his family. And after he graduated, they almost seemed to want to take him back, but no one liked his choice in college majors to even give him support of any kind. He'd never been able to get over it, because they never had a really good reason for it.

It was like they just got bored of him, and tossed him aside. His hand closed into a fist and he hung his head. “So why did you call me?” He asked, his voice shook a bit in anger. They abandoned him. Was he supposed to just drop everything and run to her, like the past fourteen years didn't happen? He wasn't even sure he wanted to.

“Darryl I am so sorry.” She hiccuped and Darryl actually believed she meant it. She was never one to admit she was wrong or offer apologies. She had too much pride for that. “Son, we never should have done what we did.” She continued, he heard her blow her nose and he remained quiet. “We all just didn't know what to do. No one in the family is meta...and we'd all thought you'd follow after your brother and sister. It was a big surprise that you didn't. You have to understand. We all still love you.” She went quite, probably expecting Darryl to open up his heart and say something, but he couldn't even move. He didn't believe—he couldn't believe that she thought he'd just be fine with that. That the only reason why they hadn't 'accepted' him was because he surprised them.

“Darryl, please come home; please.”

[Dr. Sean Neville]

The Obvious Child

Sonny sits by his window and thinks to himself
How it's strange that some rooms are like cages
Sonny's yearbook from high school
Is down from the shelf
And he idly thumbs through the pages
Some have died
Some have fled from themselves
Or struggled from here to get there
Sonny wanders beyond his interior walls
Runs his hand through his thinning brown hair*

“Sean?”

The telepath blinked upon hearing his name. Lifting his head, he saw Griff standing in the threshold to his study, a concerned look on his face. His lover had the late shift today, because it was Amnesty Day at Hammel – students could come for medical checkups without the results going in their files. It was a proud Hammel tradition, which revealed the true depths of drug abuse and underage sex amongst the student population. He wasn’t due home until...was it ten-thirty already?

No wonder his back hurt; he’d been sitting here over four hours, wasting the night away staring out the window.

He brought his hands to his side, jerking back slightly, which caused the wheels of his chair to move, turning him to face the younger man. He tried to smile, although he knew he’d failed miserably when Griff’s expression grew even more concerned. “Are you okay?”

“I’m sorry I forgot about supper.”

“It’s okay; Anya remembered it was Amnesty Day and made sandwiches. I brought you home one if you haven’t eaten yet. She says she hopes to see you soon.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“How long has it been, two days now? You can’t keep skipping meals. And a sandwich would give you a glucose boost. You’ve been shielding heavily, and that always takes its toll.”

“I’m not hungry,” Sean heard a hint of anger rise in his tone, which he immediately smoothed over. Griff deserved better than that, and Heaven knows he wasn’t angry at the younger man. He was frustrated, tired, and depressed, and he tended to get defensive when his judgment was called into question. Calmly, he added, “I’ll take a vitamin pill before bed, all right?”

Griff continued to frown, which in turn caused Sean to sigh; well, he hadn’t expected that to work. “I’ll go eat a banana.”

“Good, you could use the potassium.” His lover leaned over and pressed a kiss to Sean’s cheek. “I’m going to hop in the shower, but I’ll see you in twenty.”

With that, his lover exited the study; Sean heard his footsteps on the stairs, growing softer until once again the telepath was left alone with his thoughts.

**********************

Griff’s first day at Hammel was Sean’s first day back from rehabilitation. It had been chaotic, with the repairs to his office, the shifting staff, and the ever-present pain in his back. Anya, Chase, and Clarisse had been kind enough to throw Sean a welcome home party, through which he’d been distant. Everything had changed; for the first time in his adult life, he was shorter than those around him, and he had difficulty adjusting to looking up at others. Emma had stopped calling him "Charles," because the comparison was a little too real now. Griff had wandered in shortly afterward, seeking out someone who could give him the official tour.

He remembered the first time he’d lain eyes on the younger doctor, and to this day, he couldn’t imagine what the Welshman saw in him: old, crippled – and no matter how many arguments he had with Josh on the subject, he couldn’t think of himself in any other way. He didn’t have a disability, like someone who had been born paraplegic or had developed an illness later in life; he’d been crippled after the Degreas twins shot him in the spine. And laden with guilt so heavy as to weigh him down, causing him to slouch in his chair, causing him to lose another inch at least. He hadn’t been particularly social that day, although he’d offered to give Griff the tour, as an excuse to leave the party.

Several months had passed before Griff was allowed in on the secret. Before that, the staff had been unusually silent on the subject; they had their prepared answers and never varied from the script.

What happened?

Sean was shot.

How?

During a mugging.

A mugging of free will, of a man’s very consciousness. Of four men’s consciousnesses. That was difficult to explain, particularly to a newcomer, particularly to a soul as gentle and pacifistic as Griffin Jones. When Chase and Sean had finally explained that there had been a fight, Griff had been surprised, and he’d had questions, many of which went unanswered at the time, because Sean had withdrawn into himself.

There was a small prison cell in Sean’s mind where Gabriel Underwood had spent the last moments of his life.

Gabriel had underestimated him, which had always been his problem. The puppeteer had spent so long wearing his powers on his sleeve that he’d forgotten others could have a trick or two hidden there instead. Sean Neville was one of the strongest known psychics on the planet, which was the result of four decades of natural aptitude and careful cultivation. Yet he’d never boasted of that fact; partially from modesty and an effort to be humble, and partially because he would forever be in awe of Robert Hopkins and in turn part of him had never ceased to be that twelve-year-old boy, drowning in the thoughts of others.

Gabriel hadn’t gone up against that twelve-year-old boy; he’d faced off against the fifty-three-year-old man who’d resolved to put an end to the blight on the world caused by his former student, one way or another.

Gabriel’s fatal error was had been his belief that Sean’s limitations in the minds of others extended to his own mental plane. The puppeteer had invaded, and the moment Sean felt the tickle in his brain, the signal that someone else had joined him, he’d shut the door, locked it tight. Gabriel might have let himself in, but he wouldn’t be able to escape quite so easily. And while he held the puppeteer’s mind in his hands, he thought he might as well undo the damage of his sociopathic personality, even if it meant leaving the other man in a permanent fugue state.

Then one of the twins found him, thought he was Chase, and shot him in the spine before he could make them turn their guns on one another. He’d heard that thought before passing out from the pain. In a cynical way, it was amusing, because he had been the greater threat.

Sometime between falling in battle and waking in the hospital, he’d clamped down on Gabriel’s mind, snuffing him out as though he were a birthday candle. It was self-preservation on his part, lest Gabriel take control of his body permanently while he was too weak to fight.

That did little to ease his conscience. There was a larger prison cell in Sean’s mind where he spent an increasing amount of time, shutting himself off from others. His depression had gotten worse since then; such that it wasn’t uncommon for him to take a few days off every month, just to cope. Some of the students called it his period and saying so in front of a staff member was an automatic weekend detention.

And when Griff had finally learned of this, he’d stopped offering to try to heal Sean. The telepath knew that the younger doctor didn’t judge him for what had happened – he’d been passed out in a pool of his own blood with his spine shattered and he was reminded of this on his worst days. The other man, better than most, seemed to realize that Sean didn’t want the incident whitewashed, and he required the reminder, and in other ways he detested talking about it, so it was never discussed except in vague terms now. That Griff understood that much underscored that they were a good fit; they both had their scars and sympathetic neuroses.

**************************

Sean had forced himself to eat three-quarters of a banana before gagging and giving up. He took the vitamin pill anyway, with four painkillers as chasers, and then took the chairlift up to the second floor. Chase had helped install that for him while he’d been in the hospital, which he appreciated because he could retain some sense of normality that way, without having to shift around the rooms.

The shower was still running when he entered the bedroom. He changed into his pajamas – which consisted of pulling off his robe and switching tops, as he’d done a dismal job of dressing today – and then transferred into bed with a heavy thud. Just then, the water stopped, as did Griff’s singing.

He glanced down at the nightstand, reached out his hand, and then drew it back; not tonight, he’d mused enough as it was.

In his nightstand drawer, beside his other cherished possessions, was a note card. Although there was no return address, he’d recognized Jesse’s frantic penmanship, and the common misspelling of his surname the first time he’d opened it. There had been no salutation, because Jesse wasn’t one for pleasantries; he’d gotten right down to business.

You killed Gabriel, you sonofabitch.

He was right, of course. Sean tried to take comfort in the knowledge that, were he and Gabriel’s positions reversed, the other man wouldn’t feel such remorse, wouldn’t think twice about it. That was why it had been a necessity.

That knowledge didn’t go very far. There was blood on his hands, and that made them too similar for Sean’s comfort.




*With apologies to Paul Simon and Chezuu.

[Courtney Ross]

Some Days

Some days were just a bit harder than others.

Courtney sat down on her bed, then gave up entirely and flopped back. She felt lost and confused, like some stereotypical pathetic teenage girl and she almost wanted to cry. And Courtney never never cried. Just today, just because.

Now, nothing about today had been especially bad, but it was like too many straws on some poor overburdened metaphorical camel. Yes, she had been awful in gym class and it probably was her fault that they had lost at basketball, but really, the shouting was over the top. And then, of course she had managed to get her shirt stuck in her locker and rip it, a shirt she liked even. Tripping up the stairs hadn’t helped, or the giggles that followed, and losing her homework was just embarrassing and why was she harping? She wasn’t supposed to harp, she wasn’t supposed to dwell, she was supposed to be starting an awesome happy new life here, wasn’t she?

But today marked three months here without a single letter from anyone and only weekly phone calls that she initiated herself. But today she was gloomy and too accident prone. But today she was making up excuses and letting herself be awkwardly miserable and she just-

”Murrr.” Courtney groaned softly, not opening her eyes. She didn’t want to be sad and like this but she still let herself do this, let herself whine and wander and she didn’t stop it. She was pathetic and sloppy and predictable, there could be a Lifetime movie about her silly stupid problems that no one should care about because they were petty and stupid. ”Stupid stupid stupid stupid teenage stupidness…” She wanted to shush herself and frown and disapprove of the way she was acting, but that would happen later.

Maybe it was okay, just today, to be a normal girl and think the world was out to get her, to think that she was so important she could just wallow in angst. It was the fault of hormones and fate and things like that, she could blame it on other people and things. Courtney could just be miserable for no reason, couldn’t she? Wasn’t that supposed to help?

But there was something she wanted and needed, something that would make her better if she only knew what it was. If her happiness could be pinned to an object, to a person place thing idea, if there was some kind of noun she could focus in on and grasp to solve her mopey down-in-the-dumps awful attitude, then she wanted it needed it to hold in her hands and be okay.

For now, she only had herself. As herself, Courtney just didn’t know what to do. However, she was quickly distracted by her cell phone buzzing loudly.

It was a cheap phone and her reception here was awful, so most of the time her phone didn’t even ring for calls and went straight to voicemail. The buzzing meant that someone had left a voicemail and she was finally in an area with enough service to call voicemail and hear it. Reminding herself that it was probably just a wrong number or hang-up, Courtney picked up her phone - one bar - and hit the green button.

”You have two unheard messages." her phone said in an oddly automated female voice. ”First unheard message.”

”Courtney?” It was her sister, Lisa Marie. ”Mom said this is your number so if you’re a stranger I’m totally sorry but Courtney, what is up? No one told me you went off to school, you’re boarding now, you lucky dog. Meet any cute boys? Anyways, Mom was being totally tense and all blah blah blah, but I hear it’s a special school, so go you! Special boarding school!” Her sister was always like this, so fast and bubbly. ”Anyways, since you’re too cool to pick up the phone now, I just wanted to call and say hey and wonder why no one tells me stuff just because I moved to New Jersey, so bye.” And then a click, signifying the call was over.

”Second unheard message.” the female voice reminded.

”Almost forgot, I love you.”

And that was it, that was the end of the calls and that was all that was needed. Some days were just a bit harder than others. And every so often, someone was there to make them just a bit easier.

[Alice Perette-Johnston]

Morgan and Anya: The Red Thread
By Chezzu and Lynxie
See Here for Lynxie’s accompanying Connections entry

"So, when are you going to marry me then?"

The rings stared at the pair through the mirror as they looked between them, hands linked. The blonde beau's expression went hazily bashful as he suddenly found an interest in the pavement, and the woman, ever playful, gently rested her hand on his cheek. "Relax." She said easily, leaning up to press a light kiss on his lips. "I was teasing." She added, taking a lingering look at the tempting rings, before tugging her man away.

"Anya..." He started, swallowing hastily and touching her waist, his arm winding around it easily. "You're gonna give me a heart attack." He laughed nervously, taking another, somewhat frightened glance over his shoulder, as though the jewelry store were stalking them, flaunting the solitaire and engagement rings to the young Russian. Anya's lips grew in a playful smile, and she looked up, eyes sparkling. It had been almost a year of solid dating. No arguments, aside from those on what to eat for dinner, no glaring bad habits, just comfort, blissful, blissful comfort. Part of her didn't want that to change, didn't want a scrap of metal to cause friction. But the other part? It longed for a family, and she wasn't going to spring babies on Morgan right now.

She did, after all, want him to stick around. Though he hadn’t ever showcased signs of running off, altars tended to make men turn into shaking lumps of fear regarding commitment, at least in what Anya had witnessed.

What Anya didn’t realize was that Morgan had witnessed the same thing. He didn’t want to be that guy who got cold feet, but then again he didn’t want to be that guy that was “never ready.” Just like Anya, he was torn. One part of him screamed at him to take the lovely Russian into his arms and beg her to marry him, to complete his dreams of being a faithful husband and father. The other part chided him to wait, to be absolutely sure, if only because he loved Anya that much. He didn’t want to hurt her like she’d been hurt in the past, and if there was any chance of him being “that guy”…Well he was going to make sure it was dealt with hard and fast.

“I mean its…I…” Morgan was doing it again. Talking when he really ought to just keep his trap shut. He always wanted Anya to know exactly how he felt, figuring that was the key to their easy-going relationship…but he wasn’t exactly the brightest bulb in the box when it came to speaking his mind.

Sympathetically Anya leaned into his arm around her waist. “Sentences and syllables, honey. Sentences and syllables.” She chided playfully, prompting Morgan to actually think before he started rambling. Anya simply laughed and shook her head, hand squeezing the blonde's arm to soothe him as they continued to walk down the street. The poor man simply gave up on trying to explain as the Russian guided him down the street, pointing out the book store with a similar eagerness to that she had given to the rings.

“Maybe I should have been psychic.” She finally added with a mischievous glint in her eye as she guided Morgan into the shop, and straight to the cookery aisle. “Then I might know what 'It's I' means.” Anya turned round and flashed a proper, honest smile to her lover, before pulling down a book and thumbing through it. Her lip drew slightly between her teeth as she read, a habit the man had often prompted her on, but never managed to change, nor wanted to. Much like this Saturday ritual the pair of them went through; go for a walk downtown, look at the shops, go to the bookshop, look at recipes, go home, have dinner. It was a familiarity the pair of them enjoyed, and didn't particularly want to change.

“Your li-” Morgan started, only to be cut off by Anya's finger pressing against his mouth, stopping him from going any further.

“Pork Escalopes.” Was Anya's somewhat short reply, her eyes still fixed on the book. “Do we have these ingredients?” She eagerly turned the pages up for Morgan to read, looking at him hopefully. In return, he didn’t even scan the list for a few moments, only looking over her face with a fond lopsided grin. She shook the book a bit. “Here, Morgan. The list is here.” She teased, snapping Morgan back into reality. “Uh…” He replied, squinting at the book as he tucked his hands in his back pockets. “Yeah,I…I think we have everything.” Anya’s smiled widened and as she brought the book back down to her level, nodding slowly. Morgan’s smile widened too, but his long-time girlfriend didn’t notice, her mind too full of plans for the evening’s meal. “And we have that basil that we got cut fresh the other day…” He murmured, seeming to have other plans for the basil than just the Pork Escalopes.

Satisfied, Anya snapped the book shut and beamed at Morgan. “Sounds good, right?” Morgan was chewing on the side of this thumb absently, his face absolutely plastered with that goofy grin. Laughing Anya reached up and took his face in her hands. “Hello? Anybody home in there?” Morgan blinked down at her and grabbed her hands, kissing her fingers before squeezing them affectionately. “Home sounds nice, actually. I forgot to call my mother about that dish we borrowed from her.” He said. Anya nodded, releasing Morgan and placing the cookbook back on the shelf as she headed to the door. Laughing at her sneaky habit of never buying a cookbook, Morgan lagged behind a bit.

“Your memory is remarkable.” He complimented as they left the bookstore. Anya merely laughed and shook her hand slightly as if wafting the compliment away. “And before you say anything, I WILL buy one of those books. Eventually.” She mused cheekily, turning round and walking backwards along the street, glancing behind her every few moments to make sure she didn't walk into anything.

Eventually, the Russian pulled Morgan into her arms and she rested her head against his chest for just a moment, hearing his heart beat. “I love you.” She said, her voice faintly muffled by the fabric she'd buried her face against. Before Morgan could reply, the woman was off again, leaving him standing there with empty arms and an open mouth. “Anya!” He called as he tuned back into Earth's frequency, jogging after her with his lopsided grin planted on his face. It didn't take him long to catch up with his lover, as she grabbed a basket from outside a small convenience store.

“Snooze you lose!” She said teasingly, smiling so bright creases appeared in the corners of her eyes. The blonde man couldn't help but shrug haplessly as he returned to Anya's side. “What are we going in here for?” He asked, slightly bewildered. Anya chuckled softly and fished a short list out her bag, waggling it over to Morgan and pushing it into his palms.“Could you read this out for me, sweet?” Her voice was tender and warm, as she crossed the floor towards the first aisle, head tilting back to look at him upside down.

“It isn't too taxing for you, Morgan?” She added mischievously. “You're a little slow today, dear.” She said with a concern that was half-mocking and half-serious. “Where is your head?” Looking down at the list, then down the aisle, then at the bags used to tie the produce up for freshness, Morgan looked back to Anya. “Ah…Well. I’m not slow I just…can’t stop thinking about the most beautiful girl in the world.” Reaching up he pinched Anya’s cheek gently. “Being that she’s so close, I guess I’m just distracted.” He cooed playfully as they walked down the aisles. “Cucumbers.” He said to her, following innocently behind as she picked up produce and examined it.

Having selected the best cucumbers she held them out to Morgan. “These are good, what’s next?” Morgan moved a plastic bag under the cucumbers as Anya dropped them in,
but he kept tight hold of the red twist tie.

“Marriage.” He answered.

Anya’s head snapped up and she blinked at him stupidly. The word seemed foreign and odd coming from Morgan's mouth, and she couldn't help but stand there, utterly unable to speak. “Bu...” She started, about to say something confused, when Morgan hushed her and smiled. “Just... shush.” He said, showing a strange amount of confidence that left her silent, eyes wide.

Then, Morgan kneeled and took Anya’s hand, twisting the red tie
around her ring finger.

“Anya, will you marry me?”

The cucumbers and the list and the books and the dinner were all forgotten as Anya threw her arm around her new fiancé’s neck, sobbing her answer into his collarbone.

“Yes!”

[Jacob Lawrence]

Maddie and Rae present...
Aftermath

[/u][/center]

It had been ten days.

Ten days since the execution of Gabriel Underwood.
Ten days since Jake had watched the man he loved die.
Ten days since his heart had shattered.

The first day came and went with Jake’s tears. The second day had been punctuated with anguished screams. The third day Jake had put a gun to his head, but he couldn’t pull the trigger. Every time he tried, he would hear Gabe’s voice in his head telling him “You have to carry on.” Every time he wanted the pain to go away, when he wanted to die, he would hear those words and they would tear him up. He had promised that he would not give up, but he had never struggled so hard to keep a promise before.

The fourth day passed in complete and utter silence. The fifth day Jake sat in the middle of Gabriel’s bed, staring out the window as memories played like a movie in his mind. The sixth day he’d taken a pillow from Gabe’s bed because it still smelled like him. Jake had buried his face in it and pretended like this was all just a dream. Pretended that if he opened his eyes, Gabriel would be in his arms telling him to shut up and stop crying. But no matter how hard he wished it every time he opened his eyes, the pillow remained a pillow.

The seventh day Jake was sick, dry heaving as he clutched onto the sink. The eighth day he was angry and he snapped at everything. The ninth day he called his dogs to him. He lay in bed with Ein and Zwei curled up at his sides and he sobbed into Beta’s fur. The misery in the room, not only from Jacob but the dogs as well, was tangible and hung in the air like a heavy cloud.

The tenth day, Jake took a deep breath and started trying to put the pieces of his life back together.

---

Numb.

Jesse was numb.

Ten days had passed since he’d felt like dying on the spot himself. He’d kept it together, for a little while. He’d watched Jake lose it, feeling ice cold, but unable to cry. He’d wanted to cry. He’d wanted to scream. Instead, he’d simply tugged Jake away and driven them both home. It was a miracle that he’d gotten the car home in one piece. Everything in it was a reminder of Gabriel. In all honesty, he’d wanted to crash the car into the guard rail. He’d wanted to wrap it around a pole. He’d wanted to kill the icy feeling inside.

Instead, he’d made it home. He’d physically pulled Jake into the house and set him in his room. He’d instructed several of the other MSAD members to watch out for the older man. And then, he’d gone on a rampage. He’d destroyed half his room, pictures smashed, clothing ripped, and a hole had been punched in the wall before he’d finally flopped onto his bed and screamed into his pillow.

In the last ten days, anyone that had approached his room had been screamed at to go away. The young blonde man had spent his days curled up on his bed. He had hardly eaten. He had barely slept. Even Gambit had been banned from his room. The door remained locked, and even Reese and Lala hadn’t been able to tempt him out.

He wanted to die. He wanted to lose himself. A part of him recognized that. A part of him also recognized that if he lay here long enough, he might just do that. Had his Glock 17 been stored in his room, he might have used it. If he’d had the energy, he’d have gone down to the basement and raided the gun vault for it. Only one thing was stopping him.

He was holding down a promise. A promise he’d made to Gabriel not so long ago. He and Jake were to carry on MSAD. They were to lead their team in fulfilling their purpose. It was the only thing holding him to life. A promise he’d made to a dead man. But it didn’t stop him from being a shell, refusing company and food alike. He hadn’t even seen Jake. He didn’t want to. Like everything else, Jake was just a reminder of what he’d lost.

Jesse shivered, pressing his face against his pillow. Promises or no, he didn’t think he could really hold on much longer. He was losing the battle.

And he didn’t care.

---

On that tenth day, Jake rolled out of bed with a purpose. It was vague and weak, but it was more than he’d had for the week and a half that he’d wallowed in sorrow. He showered and, for the first time in ten days, shaved. When he finally came out of his room looking more like his old self and less like the tortured and broken man he’d been recently, the others noticed. But Jake wasn’t in the mood for their questions. There was something he had to do and it had to be done today and it had to be done right now.

The kitchen wasn’t a place that Jacob frequented, not unless Reese or Lala had been cooking, and today it was empty. He could feel some of the other MSAD members staring at him, but Jake was ignoring them. He needed no distractions, for if someone asked him if he was okay and he tried to answer, he knew he would break down. So Jake continued to ignore them as he moved robotically through the kitchen, following the steps that Gabriel had taught him so many years ago.

Since Gabriel had died, Jake hadn’t seen Jesse. He knew that the younger man was suffering just as much as he was; he had heard the muffled shouting and the thuds and bangs that came from his room, but he knew he had been in no state to see him. He couldn’t have comforted Jesse when he was so desperately craving comfort himself and he knew Jesse too well to even attempt to enter his room. Today was different. Today Jake knew that he would be the only one capable of bringing Jesse back from the brink of his self destruction.

So he poured the soup he’d made into a bowl and with the curious looks behind him, he made his way back up the stairs. He didn’t bother knocking, he knew Jesse would just shout, so he did the next best thing. He used a shadow from inside Jesse’s room to unlock the door and let himself in.

The person he saw laying on the bed was not the Jesse that he recognized.

The heavy bags under his eyes were evidence that he hadn’t slept, his blonde hair was matted and messy, his entire body looked thinner than Jake had ever seen before. Jesse was truly wasting away. The worst thing of all was that the boy didn’t even shout at Jake when he entered his room. He glared, but he didn’t move. Whether he didn’t have the energy or the strength to do so or he just didn’t care, Jake didn’t know. Either way, the silence was unnerving.

“Jesse? You need to eat.” Jake said softly, without the tease in his voice that he had always used before when speaking to Jesse. “I brought you soup.” But Jesse was still quiet. He didn’t even acknowledge that Jake was talking to him. The atmosphere of the room was entirely too confining, too uncomfortable, but Jake wasn’t going to lose Jesse. He had already lost Gabriel, he wasn’t going to lose another.

He sat down on the edge of the bed, Jesse’s glare still fixed on him, then he gently pressed the bowl into the younger man’s hands. There was another stretch of silence until Jesse finally muttered, “I’m not hungry.” But there was something he had not expected. The aroma that was coming from the bowl was familiar and when he finally looked at what Jake had brought him, tears began to well in his eyes.

Memories of the times he’d been sick and Gabriel had cared for him started to surface in his mind, bubbling up from where he’d hidden them so it would stop the pain. What Jake had brought him had been the same soup that Gabe had made for him whenever he was ill.

And it was too much for him to wrap his mind around.

All of the sudden, it all came crashing down. He couldn’t hold it in anymore and he just snapped, his fingers clutching the bowl so tightly his knuckles went white. This was the first time that Jake had ever seen Jesse cry… and it was one of the most difficult things he had ever witnessed. He pried the bowl from his hands and set it on the nightstand (one of the few pieces of furniture in the room that hadn’t been overturned) and he pulled Jesse into a firm hug. “Hey, my cooking’s not that bad.” It wasn’t about the soup, Jake knew that much, but he didn’t know what else to say.

When Jake hugged him, Jesse froze. It was unnatural for them to show affection towards each other that wasn’t preceded or followed by fighting, but the warmth of Jake’s body and the stupid joke were enough to make Jesse throw his arms around the older man. He buried his face against Jake’s shoulder and cried, his entire body shaking.

Jake didn’t know why the words came to him then, when he had spent nearly five minutes just holding Jesse while he cried, but he knew that he had to say them. “Jesse.” Jake started, coaxing the boy’s face from his shoulder so that he could look at him. “We have to carry on.” The moment he said them, he saw the understanding in Jesse’s eyes, and then everything was silent between them.

They may have lost Gabriel, but they hadn’t lost everything.

[Chase Campbell]

Approval

“Mom?” Chase dragged his mug of coffee towards him, eyeing the pastries his father had picked up from the bakery earlier. His stomach twisted, reminding him that what he was about to do was making him into a bundle of nerves. He didn’t have long. James had only just gone into the shower. It had been two days since he’d caught his partner and mother in the kitchen, laughing and talking. He’d been confused then. Now, he wasn’t sure what to think. He’d been so worried that she’d be angry at him. That she wouldn’t even try to like James.

But she had. She’d liked him enough to talk to him one on one that first morning. She’d liked him enough to go out the other day and show him the town. Apparently, his fear had been for naught. His mother hadn’t disowned him, though he still caught the discomfort in her eyes sometimes. It had happened a few times, most recently when James had given him an innocent kiss after dinner.

“Yes, Chase?” She smiled kindly from across the table, her hands around a warm mug of her own. The blond man stared down into his coffee, unsure about how to approach this topic. It was delicate, but he had to be faster than this. He had to think.

“Mom… James… isn’t my first… y’know. Boyfriend.” He couldn’t look at his mother. On the other side of the table, she sat calmly, quietly. Waiting silently for the rest of the story. Chase realized this slower than he should have. He toyed with his mug. “I… slept with Ryan. Just before I got sent to Hammel.” He was taking faster now, almost afraid that if he paused, even for a moment, his mother would interrupt with disapproval. “We were just experimenting one day and then it happened and I realized I liked it.” He was blushing now. “I never told you, ‘cause I didn’t think you’d approve or anythin’.” Back home, his accent had gained a little strength. Even he could hear the difference now. “We didn’t tell anyone, ‘cause we were freaked at what people would say.”

Meghan Kilbourne was still calm. Still listening. Chase still couldn’t bring himself to meet his mother’s eyes. “I don’t know why I fell in love with James. He was different. He had the balls to send me a drink when he was here recruiting. He was interesting. And apart from the five minutes I spent convinced he worked for the government, and he was tryin’ to capture me, I felt something.” His finger traced the rim of his mug. “It wasn’t until he came back that I even considered being in love with him. It just… happened.” He knew she’d heard James’ side of the story. It was only right she heard his side, too. “When he showed up at my apartment, I was sure he was crazy. But there was somethin’ about him that made me let him in, made me listen to him. I knew if I didn’t go with him, I’d be missing something huge. I had to go.”

Meghan sighed from across the table. Chase looked up, wishing that just for a moment he could trade Mind Control for Telepathy. He’d never been able to read his mother’s expressions. Now was no different. But Meghan just smiled at her son.

“Chase. Look at me, please.” The blond man finally met her eyes. “I love you. Regardless of who you choose to spend your time with. I approve of your boyfriend. You don’t need to justify being with him to me.”

Chase blinked. All the stress of telling her was… gone? And she had nothing more to say on it than that? “But Mom… what about what your neighbors are gonna say when we go? You aren’t worried?”

“You leave them to me.” She reached across the table, her hand settling gently on top of her son’s. “I want you to be happy, Chase. You weren’t happy here. But you’re happy now. With James. I see it. And that’s all I want for you. I want you to be happy. If you need to be in Vermont with a man to achieve that, then it’s fine with me. I love you. And so does James. He told me so.”

Surprise registered on Chase’s face. “He told you that?” Meghan nodded, looking unusually smug. He didn’t trust her expression. “Wait, what else did he tell you?”

“Nothing,” said a familiar voice in the doorway. Chase twisted in his chair, his gaze landing on his partner.

“James. … How long have you been listening?”

“Long enough.” He came to settle in one of the empty chairs, his hair still damp. He wore the same smug expression. Chase was getting the feeling he was being ganged up on.

“Okay, come on. What else did he tell you?” He cast a look at James. “James? Tell me.” His partner just shook his head grinning.

“I didn’t say anything, Love.” Chase scowled slightly. James had managed to get his own mother to play secret keeper against him.

This wasn’t fair.

But at least he had his mother’s approval. And that was worth all the teasing in the world.

[L.C. Milliner]

Bitter Snowfall

[/b][/center]

The air of her apartment smelled of burned incense and coffee. The floor was wood and cheap carpeting, some of which had holes in it from the last tenant, an avid smoker. She had cleaned the place herself; dry walled it, painted it. The apartment and the things inside were all her work; a couch saved from the curb, a coffee table from an antique shop. Her house was lit by paper lanterns that ran on electricity. The young woman sat in her kitchen with her mentor, sipping coffee as they laughed and talked. The twenty year old woman’s story of a friend of hers and a certain shenanigan they had pulled behind the old man’s back was interrupted by the sound of a knock on her door. She rolled her eyes and stood, holding up a hand to her mentor.

“I’ll be right back, Sean. Probably Vincent asking for something again- the ups and downs of having him for a neighbor, as usual.” Stepping from her kitchen to her living room with a brisk walk, Lyra idly ran a hand over her black cat, who purred for a moment before going back to sleep. Before answering the door, she looked in the hanging mirror and ran a hand through her hair. It was short and in a pageboy sort of style- but in brown, of course. She had stopped dying her hair after her junior year, it cost too much once she had gotten her own apartment. The knock came again, rushing her, and she opened the door to two men in black suits. Despite what she would have stereotyped, they wore no sunglasses or anything of the sort. In fact, both young men wore no glasses at all and looked very nervous as they fidgeted and stared at the woman in front of them. Snow dusted their shoulders.

“Hello. What can I do for you today?” She asked concisely. She did not invite them in, they took it as their first sign they weren’t wanted. One cleared his throat and looked at a manila envelope in his hands. She blinked and looked to the two of them, wondering what had warranted a visit. Was she in trouble? The rush of her thoughts drew Sean to the doorway, she could see him in her peripherals.

“Are you... L.C. Milliner?” He asked with deliberate slowness; his tongue not used to having initials drawn from it.

She nodded in a terse way and chuckled without humor. “Lyra, now. I outgrew initials after high school. I take it this is for me, then?” Without waiting from a response, she pulled it from the man’s hands and looked it over. The envelope had her name on it, or her initials anyway. The letter was originally addressed to Hammel, but they must have directed them to her apartment instead. She looked to the men, both of whom were speechless. The one who hadn’t been holding the envelope regained his composure first.

“It’s about your Mother.” He said. Lyra’s face hardened in an instant. The air around them seemed to prickle with intensity. He tugged at his collar. “She’s-”

“None of my concern anymore, but thank you for your time. Please enjoy the rest of your day.” Lyra finished for him, shutting the door in their faces. In the background, Sean said something about her being rude, but she didn’t hear him. Her eyes had caught the return address on the envelope.

New York State Hospital.

The next days were a blur as Lyra called people, who directed her to other people, who then directed her to other people who were out at lunch. The letters and forms in the envelope told her almost everything, but there was still so much more she needed to know.

What she had learned, however, was more then she wanted to know.

They had spent a year trying to track her down, but the lack of records made things frustrating for everyone involved. Her Mother was in the hospital. She had breast cancer and it was malignant. They hadn’t caught it fast enough and even after chemo and surgery, the tumor had spread too much. There was nothing they could do. What she learned over the phone, however, blew everything else out of the water.

She had a couple weeks left if she was an optimist. In reality, she could die any minute.

That was enough for Lyra to pack and leave her keys with Vincent, making him promise not to forget to feed the cat. She got a ride from Sean, though if it was her decision she would have rather just taken his car and went by herself. The owner of the vehicle, however, vetoed the plan.

“I’ve known you for years, Lyra.” He told her once again as they left Vermont. Her forehead was pressed to the cold window as she watched the snow fall down. “I won’t let you do this alone.”

“I’m not a child anymore, Sean.” She whispered, feeling tears start to trail down her cheeks. “I haven’t been a child for a long time.”

The old mentor let his gaze leave the road for a moment as he took the young woman’s hand and squeezed. Lyra felt her throat close as more tears fell down her face. “I know you aren’t.” He said, his voice radiating calm. “But sometimes even the oldest of adults need help.”

The hospital smelled like starched bed sheets, antiseptic, penicillin, and bleach. It was a generic smell. Every hospital smelled the same.

They all smelled of death.

Walking to her Mother’s room was like a dream. It was in a ward where everyone had terminal illnesses, and it was a ward where it seemed like no one was allowed to smile. Fake cheer was on the bulletin boards, welcoming the oncoming season of winter and the Thanksgiving holidays many wouldn’t get to see. Her fingers drifted over a paper turkey and, if she had been three years younger, she would’ve brought spikes from her fingertips to rip it away. But she didn’t. Instead, she let her hand drop as she found herself standing outside the closed door of her Mother’s room, eyes looking up at the number like a child at an angry figure. She was scared from her toes to her face and everywhere in-between. As she pushed open the door, the sound of a heart monitor and labored breathing greeted her. she almost had to vomit as she stared at her sleeping mother, or what had been her mother.

She was tied to machines and tubes like a fly caught in a web. Her hair was short and uneven, the chemotherapy robbing her of her silky blonde hair. Her chest rose and fell unsteadily but the worst part was that it was flat- her Mother’s breasts had been ripped away and placed in a trash bin somewhere with other people’s amputations. She was thin as a rail, though she had always been, but now it seemed more exaggerated. Lyra let a whimper trail out of her mouth and turned, looking to Sean standing in the doorway, taking the scene in with her. She covered her mouth and heaved before turning back, an unsteady gait taking her to a chair placed next to the bed where she could sit.

“I’ll leave you two alone.” she heard Sean whisper as he closed the door, standing watch outside to ward off any incoming doctors or nurses. Lyra needed to be alone with her mother.

“Mom?” The girl whispered. Her voice sounded as if she was being strangled, but her Mother heard her anyway. Her blue eyes shot open and she looked over to Lyra, smiling weakly.

“Well look who came back to me like a bad penny.” Lyra’s face hardened again, and she stood. She wasn’t going to take any abuse from her, not now. If she was going to behave like this, she’d have none of it. She turned to leave, but her Mother’s voice stopped her again. “No, baby girl. Please. Don’t go. I’m sorry.”

Lyra felt her throat close up again and she turned to sit once more. Her Mother reached out a pale, shaking hand and took her daughter’s, smiling from where she was laying. “They told you, hmm? About how long I have?” She whispered, squeezing her daughter’s hand. Lyra nodded, feeling numb as her Mother coughed. It took her a minute to recover. Lyra noticed her mother had no eyebrows and that made all the pent up tears let loose.

“Don’t cry, honey.” Her Mother whispered, running her fingers over Lyra’s face.

“I hated you.” The words slipped from her mouth before she could stop them and they wouldn’t end. “Every day, I hated you. Even when I was at Hammel, I hated you. You were never there for me.” She sobbed, and her Mother held her hand as she did, letting tears stain her hospital gown.

“I know. And I deserve it.” Lyra looked up at the older woman, who gave her a weak smile and closed her eyes. “I was a horrible mother.” Lyra shook her head, but her Mother would have none of it. “I was awful to you, to your brother. I always regretted that day.”

“What day?” Lyra’s voice cracked, but her mother didn’t flinch.

“The day you ran off. I looked out in the snow for hours, but I couldn’t find you. Your brother looked too. Everyone looked for you, baby, but you had run away and hid yourself. I think the only person who could’ve found you would’ve been...” She stopped to cough. “Magda. If she had been alive then.”

“I’m sorry, Mom.” Lyra whispered, kissing her Mother’s hand. “I’m so sorry.”

“I’m sorry too, baby.” She whispered, looking to the door. “Who is that handsome man out there, then?”

Lyra smiled a little. “That’s Sean. He’s a wonderful mentor.”

“He looks like a nice guy. Tell me how you’ve been, Lyra. I’ve missed you so much. Look at how big you are. Almost didn’t recognize you. All grown up.”

Lyra told her everything. She told her Mother about Hammel, her powers, her mishaps, her triumphs, Vincent’s idiocy (which made them both laugh like they had never laughed before), her old nightmares, her boyfriends and her crushes, Sean helping her out in so many different ways, her going to college for psychology, her job, her apartment, her cat, Pilot Ridge, the snow, the politics about meta-humans, and everything else until she couldn’t think of anything else to say.

Then her mother told her everything. She told Lyra about her brother, who had died in drunken wreck and left behind a pregnant wife, who had a healthy daughter. (Evangeline.) She told her about how the carnival had shut down a few years ago, her new job as a waitress, about her boyfriends, her dogs, her books, how searching for her, the hospital, the nurses, the doctors, and how she had always wished she had raised her different. After a while, her voice grew weaker and unsteady. They sat and watched the snow fall instead.

“I missed your birthday.” Her Mother murmured, still looking at the snow.

“It doesn’t matter.” Lyra felt the end coming, but she didn’t want to acknowledge it.

“Fifth of November, right?”

“Yes.”

“Remember, remember the fifth of November...” She let out another cough and wheezed. The heart monitor beeped faster.

“Mom? MOM?!” Lyra rose to call a doctor, but her Mother’s hand held her still.

“You were the perfect daughter.”[/b] Her Mother whispered, then she closed her eyes, let out a final breath, and died.

The heart monitor let out a drawn out beep and Lyra bit her lip, staring at what was left of her mother; a cadaver she couldn’t even recognize.

Outside, the snow stopped falling and the clocks chimed midnight.

November fifth was finally over.

And Lyra, feeling Sean’s hand touch her shoulder gently, started to weep bitter tears.[/blockquote][/blockquote][/size][/blockquote]

[Jennifer Younge]

Assuagement

[/center]
Jenni was writing an entry in her diary when her phone buzzed. She sighed, finished the word she was writing, and then answered the phone. She instantly regretted it. As she always did when her mother called. It wasn't as though Jenni didn't like her mom, it was just hard for the girl to speak to her. After all, the woman only made her life harder, only made her wish she was normal all the more. She made Jenni felt guilty, guilty for being who she was, what she could do.
"Jenni! Are you listening to me?"

Jen nodded, and the realized her mother couldn't see her, so she spoke the affirmative, staring into space, wishing she was somewhere else, while her mother blathered on and on about something Mrs Nosy had done or said. Jenni wasn't listening, she had perfected the art of agreeing with her mother when ever the woman paused for breath.

"Look Mom, I have to go...dinner..."
The was a sigh, and Jenni instantly felt her mood drop, she closed her eyes, awaiting the barrage of insults to come her way, but instead, she heard a badly hidden sniffle.
"Mom?"
"Jenni, why won't you talk to me?"
Shocked into silence, Jenni listened as her mother cried down the phone, and felt as if she was the worst person to ever have existed.
"Of... Of course I talk to you Mom." She said, forcing the words out of her. "
"Oh Jen-bear, do you honestly think me that stupid? I call, I talk, you pretend to listen, and then make excuses." A choked up laugh sounded through the speaker. "Give me some credit Darling, I may not be the best mom, but I do have a brain."
"I know Mom, I'm sorry, I'm Jus..."
"So distracted, yes and I just want to look out for my baby girl!" The words were tired, and frustrated, and somewhat annoyed, and then the line went dead, meaning her mother and once again hung up.

Jenni sighed, and put the phone back on her desk. Every day, every single day Jenni managed to upset her mother. It was almost too much for the thirteen year old to bear. Wasn't her life hectic enough already? Obviously, her mother felt she could deal with some extra heartache.

She folded her arms on the desk in front of her, and placed her head in them. Her entire frame shook with the sobs that forced their way out of her. She was so sick of feeling so terrible all the time, she wanted to, just once, be happy. Even for an hour. But no, if she got just a second of happiness in her, and something or someone had to come along and ruin it. Some random person's thoughts, her mother, homework, a headache. The list was endless, and no wonder Jenni was reduced to crying herself to sleep.

After half an hour of crying to herself, Jenni sat up, sniffing back further tears and wiped her cheeks, crying only offered relief if someone else was there to dry your tears, Jenni knew this, and so she pulled herself back together. She had planned on going to pilot ridge after she was done writing, and didn't want to spend all day holed up inside her room. It was two thirty now, and Jen wanted to be in town for three thirty. She sighed a hiccuping sigh, and got to work, determined not the let this ruin her day.

**********************

It was three fifteen, and Jenni was wondering around the lake. She had planned on going to the mall, she needed a new diary, and she wanted some more pens; but as it was such a nice a day, she had been distracted by the lake. Truth be told, Jenni just wanted an escape, somewhere she could pretend to be normal, for a little while at least. She spied a bench, and skipped a little as she moved to it. She felt like being childish, and doing cartwheels and making daisy chains. Instead she settled for skipping, she wasn't ready to let herself go just yet, she wanted to clear her head first. She reached the bench, and sat down, leaning back, and tilting her face to the sky, with closed eyes. Peace...

Jenni, where are you?

The girl startled, and sat forward so quickly, she was dizzy for a second. Holding her head as if that would stop the world spinning, Jenni listened as hard as she could, sure she had just heard... but there was no way she could have, those words could have been anyones, or even imaginary. They were in her head after all. Still, she listened. When after five minutes, she heard nothing else, the telepath sagged against the bench once more, annoyed at her raised hopes. Childish dreams. She closed her eyes again and tilted her head back once more, trying to drive away the desperate ache that sat somewhere in her chest.

It wouldn't budge though, and it hurt. It was if she has swallowed a rock that had got suck somewhere. Somewhere uncomfortable. She wrapped her arms around herself, feeling utterly miserable now. She had let her hopes build, the watched as they were shattered again. It was useless to build walls if she was just going to let them collapse as the slightest chance of seeing him again. But she couldn't help it, she need to speak to him once more, just to tell him she was sorry.

"Can I sit here?"

Jenni shrugged at the voice that interrupted her self loathing, her eyes still locked on a particularly big wet rock, currently the seat for a frog. She felt the bench give a little more weight was added, and she shifted slightly, irritated that someone would interrupt her when she was clearly so deep in thought. Yet she felt a comforting familiarity with the man, as if he was someone she had know her entire life. She shifted again, fixing her gaze onto a soaked log, as she tried to catch a glimpse of the man. Then she turned to look at him properly. She took in the familiar eyes, the laughing mouth, and stubborn bits of beard that never went away.

"Heya honey"

She knew that voice too, she had heard it a thousand thousand times as a child, yet she still didn't dare believe. It was impossible, and yet so yearned for, that it seemed too good to be true. Which probably meant it was.

"Don't I get hug Kiddo? Not seen you in a while."

A laugh escaped, a laugh that turned into a sob, and within seconds, Jenni had thrown herself at him, sobbing due to a hurricane of emotions swirling in her head. Happiness, disbelief, sadness, guilt, shame... The list went on. Jenni's sobs soon morphed into an infinite amount of 'I'm sorry's'. She clung to him with a desperation born of fear she'd never see him again, and disbelief that he was here. He stroked her hair, whispering 'It's ok' again and again.

After a while, he pulled back, and wiped her tears from her face. Jenni was still sobbing, still apologizing, still disbelieving.
"Jenni, Listen to me. You Mom... despite what she told you, I never left because of you, It wasn't your fault."
He took her face in his large had to still her head shaking.
"Listen, would I lie to you sweet heart?"
Jen wiped another tear, and shook her head, as best as she could with him holding it in place.
"No, I'd never lie to you."
"You promise?"

"Jen-bear, I promise you, you are not to blame"

Jenni let out another sob, and her Dad pulled her toward him for another hug, a better hug. One of repentance and forgiveness, happiness and more importantly, relief. [/justify]

[Samuel Rixon]

Just... Say Yes?

Sammy had been fidgety all day long. The trip to England to meet Horus’s family and boyfriend had been everything he’d imaged so far. England was cool. As were Horus’s family. But there was one thing that had kept him more than a little distracted.

Before they’d left, he’d consulted Emma on how to ask a girl a simple question. And he’d gotten some good advice, which he’d followed to the letter. He wanted to do this right. And that meant listening to someone sane (Emma, not Verax), and actually taking the offered advice. Though it didn’t stop his stomach from twisting into violent knots, or keep his power from being more unstable than normal, it felt better to have a plan in mind.

And that plan was going into action tonight.

Ember and Sahkmet had gone shopping for the afternoon, leaving the boys to fend for themselves. Rather than try to back flip off the roof, like Vincent and Sett were trying to do, Sam was holed up in his borrowed room. Scattered on his bed were dozens of notes, most of them crumpled up into balls. He was trying so hard to word this right. But no matter how hard he tried, it wasn’t working.

Even during dinner, he was quiet, his hand in his pocket, fingering something that clicked when he ran his fingers over it. He’d managed to ignore the teasing from his friends for most of the day, but just after dinner, Vincent pulled him aside. “Wh’t th’ f’ck ‘s wrong wit’ y’, Charmander?” He poked at his friend’s stomach. “Y’ sick or somethin’?” Sam scowled and moved away.

“No, Manson. I ain’t sick.”

“Th’n wh’t th’ fuck is wrong wit’ cha?” Again, Sam tried to escape him. “C’mon Burninator. Spill it.”

“You’ll find out later. Go away.” He didn’t give Vincent a chance to argue. He turned away from his best friend and bolted away. It wasn’t Vincent he needed to talk to. It was someone else. Sticking his hand in his pocket, reassuring himself that his offering was still there, he took off in search for November.

He didn’t have to go far. He found Ember sprawled in the living room, her nose in a book. His heart started to hammer. “Emby? C-can I talk to you?” His voice gave away his nerves. Ember glanced up, smiling at him.

“Yeah, sure, love.” She dog eared the page and tossed the book aside before standing up and taking his offered hand. Sammy inhaled slowly before leading her outside, away from prying eyes and ears. His stomach was really twisting now. Maybe this was a bad idea. He was already anticipating the worst. But it was now or never.

“Emby?” He looked into her eyes. “Emby, you’re my best friend. I… um… Emby? Will you be my girlfriend?” He pulled the thing that had resided in his pocket all day out now, letting it dangle from his hand. A purple Mardi Gras necklace. The cheap kind you could buy at any dollar store, but he’d thought of Ember when he’d seen it.

He watched Ember’s reaction. Her eyes went wide, her body tense. Sam’s heart sank. This was it. Worst case scenario. She was going to turn him down and he’d have to go back to Horus’s house defeated and… she was kissing his cheek. It was Sam’s turn to have his eyes go wide. Her arms wound around his neck, and he heard her voice in his ear. “Sure, love. I’ll be your girl.”

Her arms slipped from around his neck then, and she moved away with a deviant expression on her face. “If you eat fish and chips with me.” Any joy Sam had felt had been momentarily squashed.

“Fish?” It was more of a squeak. “… If…. if that’s what ya want…” He’d do anything for Ember. And if that involved choking back fish, so be it. Ember grinned playfully.

“Tomorrow. It’s a date.” The word ‘date’ brought back Sam’s smile. He offered the necklace out to her.

“I know it sucks, but it reminded me of you. It’s pretty.” Ember smiled, dropping her head slightly in a silent invitation for him to put it on her. He complied, gently draping it over her head and letting it settle around her neck. The gaudy plastic beads caught the fading sun, and Sam had to smile. Ember was his girl.

Gently, he laced his fingers with hers, tugging her back into the direction of the house. He had some bragging to do.

[Dr. James Campbell]

Forgive me, Father

"You're not going to make it in time if you don't, you know, stand up."

James jumped, hitting his knee rather hard on the pew in front of him. He winced, but suppressed the urge to curse. After all, he was in church. He stood quickly, and tried to come up with a good explanation about why he'd been kneeling and pretending to pray for the past hour or so. "Oh, well I was going to...um, well..."

The priest shook his head slightly and chuckled, then gestured to the door. "Why don't you come over to the rectory for some coffee, and we can talk? Father Hooper will be hearing confession again this afternoon, and maybe you'll be able to make it as far as the confessional then."

Flustered, James struggled to come up with a reason why he couldn't go with the older man. Apparently it was obvious that he'd come to the church in order to go to confession, but hadn't managed to make it quite that far yet. Finally, he sighed and nodded. "Thank you, father."

It was only a short walk to the rectory, and James didn't say much, other than cursory responses to the questions Father Tim asked him. The priest was on the younger side, probably not even thirty, but he was still a few years older than him. When they reached the modest house, the priest poured the coffee, and they sat at the kitchen table. James gently ran his finger around the edge of his mug. He suddenly felt like he had when he'd told his parents about Lucy being pregnant.

"Well, James, I've never seen you at the church before. Are you new in town?"

"Yeah. I, um, recently relocated."

The priest gave him a slightly amused smile, then asked, "You're at the Institute?" The look on the younger man's face was evidence enough. "I went there too." He held his hand palm-up, and conjured a flame at the center of it. After a moment, when it was evidence enough that he was a meta-human as well, he closed his hand and put out the flame, then returned to his coffee. "You're a bit old for it, aren't you?"

James sighed, and bought time by stirring sugar into his coffee. He didn't really like the taste of it, and never drank it by choice. Apparently, it was an acquired taste. "Yeah. I have a perception thing, and since no one can see what I see, they didn't find me until a few months ago."

"So you've been in Pilot Ridge since then? You're from New York, right?"

For the first time that afternoon, James actually cracked a smile. "My accent is that bad? Yeah. I'm from New York. All my family is there."

"Your parents?"

"Yeah, and my wife Lucy, and our daughter," James wasn't smiling anymore. "At least for now."

Father Tim leaned back in his chair; he could tell that they were haltingly approaching the reason James hadn't been able to make himself actually go into the confessional. "Are they moving up here?"

"No." He didn't look at the priest, he couldn't look at him. "She's filed for divorce. And she wants me to give up my rights to see Ginny--that's our daughter--until I'm out of Hammel."

"Ah." Father Tim nodded, frowning, "She's afraid of people like us."

"By the time I'm actually allowed to leave, Ginny won't remember me." His coffee remained untouched, and he leaned his forehead on his palms. "I can't be her father if I can't see her."

The priest was quiet for a moment, thinking. The other man was young. Too young to have a daughter, even if she was young enough to forget him. "Why were you in the church today? Is it about the divorce?"

James shook his head, but he still didn't look up. "No. It's.... even before I brought here it wasn't working. We got married because of Ginny. We wanted to give her a normal life, but we weren't together before. And this hasn't helped." He paused, then added, "It's just... I always imagined I'd end up married, with a houseful of kids."

"You can still be her father, James. And you are too young to be giving up on ever having a family." He reached over and patted the other man's arm. Yes, the Catholic church still didn't approve of divorce, but a good argument could be made for annulment in this case. "You can still have all that."

"I'm gay, Father." James finally looked up at him. And even in his eyes, there was a bit of surprise. He had never said that aloud before, even if it had been preying on his mind for some time now. He wasn't going to get all of that, because he wasn't going to have a wife again. He wouldn't have the white picket fence.

"Oh." There was a long silence, as the two men looked at each other, until Father Tim spoke again. "Lucy knows?" He couldn't condone it. It wasn't right. But he wasn't going to condemn the distraught man either.

James shrugged. Out of all the things he'd been expecting, that was not one of them. "I don't know. Maybe? She knows that I'm not in love with her, and that's enough for her." And suddenly he realized that he'd made his confession. He'd done what he'd gone to the church to do. And the Catholic Church wasn't going to want him back. "I should go." He pushed his still-untouched coffee away and stood. "Thank you, Father, for your time. And the coffee."

He turned to leave the kitchen, but was stopped by the priest's voice.

"You're not going to hell. James, I can tell you're a good person. You're not going to hell."

The younger man nodded slightly. "Thank you, Father." Though he had been considering it, he knew he would not be returning to the church for confession, nor for Mass on Sunday morning.

"God bless you."

"You too, Father."

[Oliver Wells]

... Nobody knows me at all...

The light wasn't actually flickering, but the dimly lit room gave off the feeling that the bulb wasn't working properly. The changing in lighting was actually the result of the very sleepy blonde currently attempting to keep his attention on the colourful playing cards in his hand. His eyelids continuously fluttered closed before a small jolt would go through his neck and he would snap his head up ever so slightly, feigning consciousness for a few seconds before repeating the motions. It was some ungodly hour in the morning, he had been awake for more than thirty six hours by this point, and he just wanted to crawl into a sock drawer and sleep for days.

But, that would probably not be happening anytime soon. One of the many younger members of the secret group that Oliver was assigned to take care of was currently awake and energetic. Well, about as energetic as he generally is. All in all, he didn't seem tired, and the energy manipulator generally didn't go to bed before the kids. He was the babysitter after all. Stifling a yawn, he stared blankly at the cards in his hand before picking one up and flicking it out onto the table covered in offending playing cards. Fifi laid unconscious on the couch a few feet away, having nodded off only an hour ago, currently using the resident Great Dane as a pillow. Ein snorted in his sleep, readjusted his head and laid still again. Oliver just stared before turning his attention to the blonde mirroring him on the other side of the table. Crossed legs, slouched shoulders, staring intently at the cards held so closely to the face. He rose his eyebrows lazily, already knowing his eyes showed his exhaustion. Jesse chewed on his lip, obviously staring past the cards in his hands, thinking about something else. Oliver just watched him, his irises making small movements, as if to be looking over the cards, but the blonde knew the younger boy wasn't paying attention at all.

Clearing his throat weakly, Jesse's head snapped up as he stared at him intensely. Wordlessly, the elder nodded down to the cards to signify it being the other's turn. The dream walker pursed his lips, looking back at his cards and pulling one out at random, tossing it down. A light, airy laugh passed through Oli's lips as he shook his head an looked back down to his own cards cradled in his hands.

"What's so funny?" The regularly offensive tone had lightened with the lack of sleep, but still sounded slightly peeved as to why Oliver had laughed at him. Looking up, he stared intently at the younger for a few tight, silent seconds... And then he shrugged, looking back to the cards. "What? 'Cause I spaced out?" Another shrug, not even looking up this time.

A huff, the flutter of cards being thrown offensively against the table they sat upon, the rustle of moving fabric as the boy crossed his arms across his chest and looked to the side, doing the odd little half-pout he did when something bothered him. Calmly, the tired teenager put down his cards as the game was evidently over, and looked up at the tantrum-prone blonde in front of him. Tilting his head to the side, his tired eyes staring at the boy quizzically, they waited in a heavy silence. It drew on, the only sound was their breathing and Ein's quiet snores every few seconds. Finally, after a deathly weight had settled on the unmoving room, Jesse turned and huffed. "Do you ever speak?" He sounded angry, but his voice still came out in a harsh whisper rather than a shout. Even he was conscious of the sleeping couple on the couch only feet away.

Oliver only offered him an exasperated smile in returned, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his thighs, in turn leaning a bit closer to the younger blonde. Another slight tilt of his head in a questioning way. Jesse's eyebrows knitted as they locked eyes, a slight snarl suddenly on his face.

"What?!" He snapped sharply, finally raising his volume.

Oliver was unfazed by the outburst, leaning back slightly and finally opening his mouth. His voice was very quiet, barely above a whisper, "What's on your mind?" The rare sound of the Canadian accent broke the tension in the room, the inquiry genuine as the elder teen continued to study the younger's face.

Jesse huffed again, looking over to the side. Judging the silence would returned, Oliver attempted not to fall asleep by gathering all the playing cards scattered haphazardly across the surface of the table, slowly putting them back into a neat stack again. As he predicted, it was quiet for a period of time, to the point where the teen was beginning debating making a tower out of the cards. But alas, the dream walker spoke again, "What... d'you think about... kissing?"

Now that caught Oli by surprise. He jolted, looking up at the boy with a quirked eyebrow. That was... weird. Not "Jesse" at all. He hated affection, especially the public kind. Kissing, making out, holding hands. All of it. Oliver was pretty sure sex even disgusted him, which was completely unusual for any teenage boy. But hey, that's what he was like and the blonde respected his unusual, if admittedly immature, point of view. He stuttered, unsure how to respond before ending with a simple and pointed, "What?"

The younger seemed uncomfortable now, like he wished he hadn't said anything. He writhed and shrugged, staring intently off to the side, as if the door had gotten particularly interesting at that point in time. "Well... 's like... Ugh, I see people kissing. And it's nasty and all. But I... still wonder what it's like, y'know?" Said with the awkward tone of an untrained preteen.

An incredulous laugh left his lips as Oliver gave him another strange look, his face almost permanently melded into an expression of exasperated confusion. "You.... You've never been... kissed?" The Canadian accent questioned, the shock evident.

The other blonde stayed silent, a scowl on his face, arms stilled crossed tightly over his chest. "So?" The harsh tone bit at the Canadian, obviously offended at the tone of the question. "It just looks so... weird and creepy and... Ew." The boy shivered, Oli continued to stare. They remained like that, the expression of shock and the annoyed glare directed at the innocent door that could only stand quietly in the way of the wrath of a young, curious teenager. Finally, Jesse spoke, his tone still tight, but slightly softened, nearly a dry whisper with embarrassment, "Could I... try with you?" This prompted Oliver's eyes to nearly jump from the sockets at how large they got. Sitting up completely straight, he stared widely, now completely awake, at the blushing blonde in front of him. Arms still crossed defiantly over his chest, eyes not meeting the energy manipulator's.

Looking down, Oliver scratched the back of his head awkwardly, "Uhm..." He hummed, mind tossing through a million things at once, some of the topics having nothing to do with this exact moment. Finally, he snapped his thoughts away with a quick jerk of his head. The younger teen's shoulders had begun to slump with the obvious stature of a person just rejected or denied of something. He supposed Jesse had taken his silence as a denying of his request. Exhaling, a small smile tugged at his lips, he scooted forward on the tabled until their knees touched each other. That got the dream walker's attention, his head turning to look at Oliver. He still tried to keep that pissed-off demeanor of his, but he couldn't hide the embarrassment he was feeling as the blush on his cheeks was so bright. Oliver chuckled silently, pushing the boy's offending bangs out of his face with the tips of his fingers, and very gently meeting their lips.

It was... awkward, to say the least. Jesse was obviously hesitant and unsure of what he was doing, Oliver didn't have much more knowledge than he did, having only been kissed a few times with random circumstances. There wasn't much movement, and there definitely wasn't tongue, but it was a sweet sort of kiss. That was, until the younger teenager roughly pulled away and pushed the elder away offensively. He paused though, and that's what stuck with the energy manipulator. Not the rough shove, or the furious wiping of his lips; the grumbles or the quick exit.

No, what stayed with him was the pause. The pause of Jesse's hands on his chest, the paused of his fingers brushing over his own lips, the taste of the kiss still on them before he wiped it away roughly. The slight hesitation before he turned, and especially the split section where his hand wavered over the door handle, deciding whether to stay or to go.

And that was why Oli laid back with a slight smile on his face, no longer feeling the weight of exhaustion that had been there only minutes before.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

You Can Call Me Al

A man walks down the street and says
“Why am I short of attention?
I have a short little span of attention, and woe my nights are so long.
Where’s my wife and family?
What if I die here?
Who’ll be my role model now that my role model is gone?”

Sean knew he’d been a bear at work recently, and in some remote part of himself, he regretted that. The larger part of him was too exhausted – physically and emotionally – to care.

He hadn’t had many good days recently, because Robert hadn’t had any good days recently. Even with the ongoing project of redefining “good” to include not burning the house to the ground and remembering to brush his teeth without being reminded four times. Sean had to buy a new microwave, now that the old one had exploded; he didn’t have the time, and he had to fire that attendant, the one who had let Robert try to microwave a tinfoil container in the first place. He had neither the time nor the energy for that either, so she’d stay at least another week. But if she asked for hazard pay, she was out on the street tomorrow.

They were running out of available attendants. It was, Sean supposed, his own fault for disclosing Robert’s meta-human status and his abilities, but he couldn’t in good conscience fail to warn people. Robert was powerful, and his psychic abilities were a frightening and dangerous combination now that he lacked the self-awareness and control that had once made him a force to be reckoned with.

Not that Sean was afraid of his mentor; he had the mental shields to keep the older man out of his head if absolutely necessary, not that he used them at home. Besides, he couldn’t be afraid of Robert, even if the older man held a knife to his throat; he’d told him that once, which had brought a smile to the old man’s lips.

If Beth were alive, she would be able to reach him, would be able to take care of him, and Sean would only have to come on the weekends to help out and run errands. You’ve turned into a miserable bastard, Sean, he told himself as he unlocked the door, if you’re blaming Beth for dying of breast cancer.

He didn’t blame her for dying, nor did he blame Robert for being ill, or the two of them for having no children. Robert and Beth had been kind enough to take him in as a surrogate son in the years he needed them the most; he was closer to Robert than he’d ever been to his own father. And with Beth gone and no other close family, Robert’s end of life care had fallen to him.

After a brief chat with the attendant and the three minutes he used to compose himself before supper, he brought the dinner tray up to Robert’s room, knocked to announce his presence, and then entered. Robert lay in bed, his thoughts scattered, his attention on nothing in particular. Sean took that as neither encouraging nor discouraging, given his deterioration; it was commonplace now. Bringing over the tray, he sat down in the chair beside his mentor’s bed and smiled, speaking gently. “Hey. I brought your supper up. Are you hungry?”

Robert responded as he usually did to his presence and voice, turning his head in Sean’s direction. His mentor squinted at him for a moment and then smiled. “I’m hungry, Al.”

Robert’s younger brother had been named Alvin, although he’d passed away a few years ago from a stroke. Robert didn’t remember that, nor did he remember Sean, and thus Sean played the part of Al around his mentor, having long since stopped trying to correct him. The thought of having his younger brother around made Robert happy, and who was Sean to deny the other man what small comforts that remained in his life? In a more selfish way, this was easier than having to reintroduce himself every time they spoke.

“Meatloaf and mashed potatoes,” he told his mentor, his voice steady, his smile plastered on. “I know how much you like meatloaf. So how about you sit up, and then you can eat?”

Robert tried to push himself into a sitting position, but his arms buckled, causing him to falter. Sean reached out to steady him; Robert was so frail now, nothing like the strong man he’d been in those years as his trainer, the years before his illness. When Robert finally sat up, his arms trembled, causing his hands to shake. This happened with increasing frequency, which made Sean nervous about giving him a fork. He might have to feed his mentor, if the other man had too much trouble.

It would be a long night.

******************************

“Does it get easier?”

“Yes, but it takes time and a lot more practice. Drink this.” Sean remembered the warm cup pressed into his hands, before he took a sip and the taste of tea bloomed on his tongue. He didn’t look at Robert, didn’t look anywhere in particular, as the older man continued, “Sometimes we need a helping hand.”

A song lyric popped into his head, and Sean half-whispered, half-asked, “Speed the slow, remind the eager, help the weak, and guide the strong?”

Robert touched his shoulder then, prompting him to lift his head and meet the older man’s eyes. “You’re not weak, Sean; you’re young and inexperienced. One day, you’ll be stronger than I am.”

“That’s impossible.”

“Wait and see, son.”


“Sean? Do you have anything to add?”

The telepath blinked, looking over at Claude; all around the table, faculty members were staring at him, as though he’d grown a second head. He’d been caught up in memories, and belatedly he realized that he hadn’t the foggiest idea of the meeting topic.

Ben Waxman, the side-effects specialist, was sympathetic enough to offer him a save, prompting him, “So you don’t have any revisions to the training program for psychic students?”

“Have we figured out a way to make being psychic easier?”

“Well no...of course not.”

“Then why bother asking me?” That earned him a look from several of the faculty, which in turn caused him to rise from his chair. “I need to make a call, but I’ll be back in a few minutes; don’t wait up for me.”

He didn’t have to make a phone call; there was nobody for him to call. Kathleen had all but cut off communication when he’d taken up residence with Robert, and Josh was involved and supposedly happy; he wouldn’t call up his old lover and dump this in his lap, not when he was finally happy with another human being, even if that other person wasn’t Sean. The telepath had no other friends.

No friends, no family, and a mentor who didn’t remember his name.

Rather than retreat back to his office, he went to the staff lounge; at least he could brew coffee there, and he needed the caffeine. Actually, he needed a drink, but he didn’t touch alcohol, hadn’t since Robert had gotten so much worse. It had been a long two years.

“Have you thought about having him admitted to a long-term care facility?”

Sean hated Ben’s uncanny ability to intrude where he was unwelcome. The telepath glared at the other man, clenched his teeth briefly while responding, “Absolutely not.”

“You’re running yourself ragged; everybody’s noticed now. And Claude’s a little worried about-”

“You can tell Claude that there won’t be another bout of mass memory loss.”

Ben smiled sadly. “I don’t mean to insinuate anything, but, well, everyone knows how close you two were-”

“Are.”

Ben ignored the correction and continued, “And there’s still so much we don’t know about psychic connections, particularly during formative years.”

“I’m as rational as anyone is when his father is ill,” Sean snapped.

“I know.”

Sean kept his shields raised at work, because he needed a break, needed somewhere to tune out the noise, since he could no longer do so at home. Thus he didn’t know whether the other man was patronizing him, but he would give him the benefit of the doubt. He sighed and shook his head, “I can’t put him anywhere; he deserves better than that.” Besides, no place would take him; Sean hadn’t looked, but he knew attitudes towards meta-humans generally and telepaths in particular.

The other man acknowledged that with a nod. “What about taking some time off from work, then? To focus on helping him and coping without the stress of everything here?”

Sean had been meticulous in keeping up appearances for Robert. The minute that his mentor’s faculties had deteriorated to the point of his inability to keep up a conversation or groom himself – the exceedingly rare lucid periods aside, as the last one had been nearly a month ago – Sean had stopped giving his co-workers updates, even though they had once been Robert’s friends and co-workers as well. He had put an abrupt end to visitors in an attempt to preserve his mentor’s memory, since so little could be done for his dignity. So it was fair of Ben, who wasn’t a medical doctor, to ask a question like that, not understanding the dynamics.

But Ben, given his area of expertise, would understand Sean’s objection in a way that few others could. “I can’t because I’m a selfish prick.” He sighed then and rubbed his eyes; he hadn’t discussed this with anyone, and he felt the walls he’d constructed so carefully begin to crumble. “I need something that’s mine, some place to go where I’m still myself, even if it’s a job with people who look at me and still see that gangly kid I used to be even though I’m in my goddamned forties, and everyone is worried about my nervous breakdown.”

“Nobody’s-”

“I’m a telepath, Ben, don’t lie to me. Everybody’s worried. Hell, I’m worried, because I don’t remember what it’s like not to have this psychic bond, and when it snaps, I don’t know what will happen. I don’t know how much of who and what I am is some shared fantasy he and I constructed back when I was a student.” The words rushed out now, finding voice for the first time since he’d been thrown into this situation those few years ago. His voice cracked, and he continued, “I need somewhere to go where I have my own identity, where I can remember who I am. That I’m Sean Neville and not...” And not Alvin Hopkins. He didn’t mind that people were on edge remembering the Sean Neville of twenty-eight years ago, because that was still someone he’d once been. He’d never been Alvin Hopkins, and it was harder and harder to remember that on his own.

“That doesn’t make you selfish.”

Ben’s absolution didn’t have the same effect as Robert’s, but it was the most Sean would get. Laughing bitterly, he shook his head and said, “I wish I could believe that.”

******************************

He’d left work early that day, because he’d reached a state where any direction, even from someone to whom he never listened usually, would be followed. He needed the guidance, and being told to get some fresh air and compose himself before going home had seemed brilliant. It took longer than it should have, but he’d managed, before returning home.

The attendant was cooking, and he walked right by the kitchen without so much as a “hello,” walked right to the living room and sat down in his arm chair, before cradling his head in his hands.

He’d done a poor job of composing himself, for when he finally lifted his head; Robert was there, leaning on his canes, staring at him, scrutinizing him. His expression shifted from careful concentration to surprise, and then recognition. “Sean? Is that you son?”

For those words alone, this was a good day.

His smile was real. “Yes, Robert, it’s me.”