Power Swap: Something's Gotta Give

[James Lawrence]

The first thing James noticed was the silence.

Complete silence; the kind of quiet that made him feel uneasy. It was too quiet for someone who had mastered the art of hearing everything and everyone within a space. Not only in the room, but across the hall. He was use to hearing students and their morning routines, along with the set rhythm of breaths coming from her form sleeping next to him. Even that was a strain to hear.

He had gotten up for a bit, deciding that maybe a walk would clear his head. Help return things back to normal. James felt like an entirely different person, walking the halls and hearing the bare minimum. Only the loud voices carried substance and still, it was too quiet for him.

After five minutes, he went back to her room, their room. James worked to maintain a calm composure, for Ella's benefit, even though he knew she would know something was wrong anyway. A heartbeat could betray so much. Her presence did help settle some of the unease he felt, though. Laying back down, James rolled over onto his side and put an arm overtop of her body and closed his eyes, even though he knew he wouldn't be falling back asleep any time soon. 

[Ella Robbinson]

Ella always woke to a rhythm. For the longest time it was her own, but in passing months it had all become about him. She had barely stirred when James made his way out of the bed they shared. Even as he had worked to clear his head at a distance, she failed to notice the lack of his presence, consciously or not.

When she did wake, there was no rhythm, but there was an arm across her form to remind her of his company. The series of heart beats she was used to were faded, now. Distant and practically non-existent; she couldn't even register her own, but it and his were supposed to live in her ears constantly. Shifting in her place, she rolled to press shoulder-blades against the mattress, bright eyes forcing themselves open to catch a glimpse of the form so close to her own.

But she couldn't tell if he seemed distressed or not. The easiest medium was suddenly lost to her; blanketed with what felt like white noise. No noise. Her lips parted to force a question out, but before she could manage words, she pressed a palm to his chest instead. Even then, it wasn't easy to feel.

[James Lawrence]

Heartbeats were suppose to be a conscious reminder of her presence; the way both of their abilities worked in time to the constant motion of the human body, the constant noise that was always in the background. The sound that was suppose to always be there, but the only one James could lock into was his own. And that was with conscious effort and not nearly as loud as it should be.

He felt movement underneath his arm, opening his eyes in turn to meet hers. He wondered if she could feel how frantic he was, how empty this moment felt without the constant sound pounding away in his ears. His hand shifted, resting on her back as he drew closer. Silence. James couldn't help the frown that flashed momentarily across his face as her hand bridged a connection inbetween. He wanted to ask, to say something, but found himself falling short. A hand to his chest, to an out of tune heartbeat.

"It's too quiet," James murmured, his eyes not leaving her face. No breaths, nothing. The only sound in the air was his own voice, and that didn't linger on as usual.

[Ella Robbinson]

Though Ella still knew very little about James - at least, in the sense of idle points most people inevitably learned - she had always found herself attuned to his feelings in the oddest, yet most natural way. She usually knew when James was stressed, or when he was anxious. And she was sure that had she ever seen him panic, she would be able to notice it.

But she rarely had to rely on his eyes. And there, so suddenly and so out of will, she was forced to. Because his heart was gone.

His voice was almost as quite as the notion he was providing. Ella's eyebrows furrowed instantly, trying to guess the reasoning behind his statement. The first thing she wanted to do was agree, but she doubted that would have made any sense to the man who heard absolutely everything in every instance of his adult life. Her hand lifted slightly, fingertips remaining feather-light against his chest instead. She never needed to make contact, but such contact gave her tangible proof.

"What does that mean?" She asked cautiously.

[James Lawrence]

At this point, James assumed that it was only him who felt different; who felt lost without the direction that his enhanced hearing provided daily. He didn't feel like himself, like a key piece of him was missing. The hand to his chest should have been an indication; it wasn't necessary for Ella to draw a physical connection for her to feel the tempo of his heart.

He hesitated before continuing, wondering if that made any sense. Of course it didn't; he was suppose to hear everything.

"I mean just that... it's too quiet." James replied, searching her features for a response. He couldn't rely on his ears now, only her expression for any giveaways. "I... I can't hear you." Which he meant in the most literal, physical sense. Her breaths. Her heartbeat. All gone. "It's a little unnerving."

[Ella Robbinson]

The literal reiteration of his words made things no clearer for Ella. She struggled to find herself in a fully conscious state so quickly, but by the look of him, he'd been awake for some time. Eyes still naturally narrowed to grow used to the morning light. Her mind was slow to catch up; wheels were slow to turn, but he was talking to her like she should have understood his dilemma.

Obviously, he could hear her. He had heard her question what he'd said. So it was clear enough then that the motive behind his words was far less straight forward. They were encompassing the one other thing they had, now. The medium of communication that no one else could possibly have.

"It's-" She paused, knowing no words of comfort in any straight forward situation. Why could she assume she could fix this?

Worry lined her eyes as she searched the way her own hand was stagnant. Subtle fingertips at the edge of his skin, because it wasn't necessary, yet even as she held it so slightly she found nothing. "It's like it's gone."

[James Lawrence]

The anxiety of the situation made James quick on the draw, quick to respond in his heightened state. Paired with the fact that he had been awake a little longer than her, he had more time to deal with whatever was going on. The hand on her back began tracing idle loops, letting out a heavy sigh on an exhale. Composure was important to keep, but James didn't know if he would be able to.

With anyone else, his previous statement wouldn't have made sense. But with the way he and Ella worked, it was clearer that he was talking about something more abstract.

Shifting, he moved closer to her, his hand slowly trailing up and resting overtop of her hand. What was once a reassuring motion now acted as a defined connection between them. Necessary contact now that he had lost the unique connection they shared before. "Yeah, exactly." He agreed. "Completely gone."

"You know what I'm talking about?" James asked, dark eyes searching her face. Because her answer could either be mildly reassuring or cause more concern.

[Ella Robbinson]

Proximity made everything better in the most natural way. The closer he got, the more invested they could become. The more interconnected a moment and surely, in time, the rhythm of his pulse would elevate in Ella's ears as it always had. She would feel his anxiety and understand it in a way no other person would be able to. He wouldn't need to explain it.

The hand against hers gave her something else to feel. Just below the curve of his hand on his wrist should have been a pulse, too. Easier to follow than the drum at his neck. She should have been able to practically feel it against her skin, even if she hadn't placed anything against it. And from his mouth she caught the agreement she really hoped wouldn't exist. The words she offered radiated from his lips in a reiterated fashion, like he understood. That was scary.

"How can I?" She asked, honestly. "Your palpitations-" No, it wasn't a word she ever really used. She never really had to; "Every morning your heartbeat is so loud it wakes me up. Today, it's-" Another stall, because the last thing she wanted to say was it was gone again.

[James Lawrence]

The way the situation was unfolding was alarming, to say the least. The fact that she offered the exact words James himself was thinking; all the little features that made them them, suddenly gone. Without explanation. He should have been able to hear her heart, working in time to match his, and would instantly know that she understood exactly what he meant. He should have been able to detect any subtle changes in the tone of her voice and been able to hear that he wasn't the only one feeling out of place.

James was at a loss, completely lost without the one thing that had always been there to guide him through the latter half of his life. His thumb ran down the side of her hand, distracted momentarily before listening. A frown crossed his features; he knew that it was easy for her to follow the motions of the body's circulatory system, but never realizing that he was to blame for waking her up every morning.

There was something more distressing about the way Ella trailed off, leaving her sentence unfinished. "Like there's something missing?" James asked. A necessary part, gone, leaving them with no choice but to communicate through words. Which was arguably more difficult than the method they used before.

[Ella Robbinson]

A frown forced a crease between his eyebrows, and in turn Ella couldn't help the growth in her concern. Awake for mere minutes and already it seemed as if they were misinterpreting each other. It wasn't so bad; rather, she liked the fact that she could be awake at the same time he was just for the mere fact that he was awake. But it had been something she'd never addressed before, and now wasn't really the right time to do so.

As Ella caught his eyes, she did her best not to look so crushed by the fact that he could finish her sentence to easily. At least he had rephrased it in a better way; she had to be thankful for that. But she couldn't feel at ease just because he understood her. After all, there had to be a reason for that.

"Exactly." She breathed, nodding her head once at a total lack for secondary words. She didn't have an explanation, and she doubted he did either. "How could you know that?"

[James Lawrence]

Instinct told James that it was a bad thing; maybe under different circumstances he would have continued that train of thought, but now was not the time or place. There was something more important to discuss than heartbeats and morning routines.

Heartbeats were important, and the lack of its presence. The deeper they got into the conversation, the more he realized just how strange this was. His eyes met hers easily, his hand tracking down the length of her arm. What was stranger was the fact that she was agreeing; agreeing with everything that had been said so far. The crease between his eyebrows deepened at the thought.

"How could you know that?" James repeated her question, because he was also thinking the exact same thing. It should have been comforting to hear that she too felt the missing piece, the missing regularities of heartbeats. But he couldn't even begin to explain or speculate the why or the how. "This morning, I woke up and couldn't hear your breathing or heartbeats. And now knowing you can't hear mine..." He trailed off, unsure of where his sentence was going or what point it served. Spoken out of impulse and anxiety about the situation at hand.