Though it was not a good idea, perhaps, it was better than nothing at all. And Sentinel often complained of the difficulties he had performing his job with the young psychics about. Still, what did she know of this? She had taught Phoebe to use a sword, yes, but conveyed only the rudiments of the art to her. At the time, more had not been necessary. These children would require far more than that. Phoebe wound her arms around Keiko many times when Keiko explained the training methods to which she was accustomed, so perhaps they were -- not ideal. (And to see the children -- to see Riley in particular -- learn in the manner in which she learned made a knot rise in her throat, hard and bright.)

 

Nevertheless, she reminded herself as she crept toward Ramirez's office on silent feet, the children had to be taught, even if she herself was not the one to teach them. Keiko knocked on the door only once. If Ramirez was there, he would hear her.

 

Behind the door, Keiko could hear a chair sliding across the floor, and then footsteps. The inspector pulled the door open a moment later. "Kei-.... Ronin. Is something wrong?"

 

"No. Nothing is wrong." She glanced down the hall -- it appeared deserted. "May I enter?"

 

He stepped to the side and gestured to his desk. "Oh, sure. Of course."

 

She nodded once and elected to stand. The position caused her no notable discomfort. "I have a proposition to discuss with you," she said simply.

 

"A proposition?" he asked, looking at Keiko as he shut the door with a click.

 

"Yes." She closed her eyes briefly -- if she spoke plainly, this would be concluded quickly. An agenda to her advantage, as she felt a dim presence stir at the periphery of her consciousness, one that outlined the world in jagged black strokes. It proved disconcerting. "The children we rescued from the Sovereign Earth Project reside with Sentinel. The situation is not to his liking."

 

"I'd guess so," Ramirez agreed, trying to meet Keiko's gaze as a flicker passed over his features. "He never struck me as someone who'd...be good with kids."

 

"No," she said. "He dislikes them. It is therefore best that the children be taken to a better environment. One where they may be trained in the use of their abilities. If they are not, the situation could prove problematic."

 

"What did you have in mind?" he asked, his face neutral again.

 

Here she closed her eyes once more to regain her focus. It would be best to return the students to their parents, she thought. Or it would have been had Riley not informed her that the parents not estranged from their children believed the students to be dead. The Project was thorough when it selected its candidates. "I can find no appropriate training academy in existence. Therefore, I believed it wise to -- create one."

 

She could see Ramirez weigh the idea in his head even without her powers. "It would be useful," he admitted slowly. "I know a school like that would have done wonders for me when I was learning to use my powers." The ghost of a question lingered on his face, but Ramirez pressed his lips together.

 

Keiko nodded. "I have the capital to back such an operation, and Sentinel agreed to design an artificial intelligence to perform basic maintenance duties." She thought it ill-advised to place mundane humans near budding young psychics. The potential for injury to either party was too great. "I -- would be in your debt if you would consent to assist me in this. You have more administrative experience than I."

 

Ramirez blinked several times in rapid succession. Surprise? She thought it likely.

 

"I'd be happy to help if I could," he started, "but why are you coming to me? What about your frien-... the others in your organization, Ronin?"

 

She studied the lines on the floor intently. "They are not psychics. Nor would all of them be comfortable in -- such a role."And she did not want them to think her in need of their assistance for everything. This endeavor could be her own. Well, largely her own.

 

Also, there was the matter of Phoebe flinching when Keiko's eyes met hers at the moments where the roaring grew loudest in Keiko's head, the rasping whispers caressing the edges of her consciousness and encouraging her to let go, to forget the others and lose herself in herself.

 

Ramirez nodded. "I guess you're right. So long as you've only got psychics at the school, psychics would be the best choice for teachers." He reached across the table and twisted the clock on his desk so he could read the time. "Where are you going to build the school?"

 

"Saint Claire's seemed the obvious choice, if the facilities could be renovated. Certain rooms would need to be transformed into dormitories, and the security must be increased -- " She had, in fact, drawn up a number of plans for doing so during her time as a student there. " -- and no doubt other procedures must also be performed. I need to consult with the contractors." She had not anticipated that this venture would involve so much discussion.

 

"I know a few people who could help with the construction," he replied. "People who could do the work quietly. Let me make some phone calls tonight."

 

"Thank you," she said quietly. "I suppose I also need to research appropriate methods of mundane instruction. For...subjects such as mathematics and writing, yes?"

 

Ramirez rested his hand on the desk and stared up at the ceiling tiles. "The students should have some grounding in traditional subjects. But don't you think that developing the techniques for training the students in the use of their powers is more important?"

 

"Yes." She glanced downwards again. "I merely thought that -- perhaps they should receive something more..." Normal. "...traditional. I know little of this."

 

It would be so easy to reach gently into Ramirez's mind and nudge a few thoughts aside, enough so he would no longer note her presence. Yes, the whispers clamored. Go. You do not need him.That strengthened her resolve to stay.

 

"I'll try to contact some of my tutors from when I was a kid," Ramirez offered. "I might be able to get some feedback on how to design a curriculum that way."

 

"Yes." She bit the inside of her lip. "What else ought to be considered?"

 

"If the kids are going to be living there, we'll have to make sure that the school is comfortable, and that it has all the things they'd need." He rubbed his thumb against the pads of his index and middle fingers as he spoke. "Like a camp. We'd have to provide food and something like a lounge..."

 

It seemed as though Ramirez had many suggestions to offer.

 

*                                  *                                  *

 

"So you went to school here?"

 

Ramirez's voice and footsteps echoed strangely through the empty halls of Saint Claire's, especially with the walls stripped down to the supports in many places. A maze of pipes and wires presented itself to her, illuminated by the flash of an occasional wayward spark.

 

"Briefly." She brushed her hand across the rusted surface of an exposed pipe. Had all this decay lain within the school for so long? Her fingertips came away tinged with red. "My superiors thought it the best choice if I were to maintain my civilian cover."

 

Ramirez stopped to inspect a crude piece of graffiti on the wall inscribed with some type of thick black ink many years ago by a student intent on informing the world that Headmaster Blaine enjoyed intercourse with equine partners. "Looks like it was a dump."

 

She shook her head slowly. "I do not recall it as such. I believe it changed after my departure." Granted, she had little enough to compare Saint Claire's to, but she would not have described it as trash.

 

“Well, we'll get it fixed up either way," Ramirez said with a nod as they rounded a corner. He paused and stuck his head into one of the classrooms. The room was dark, with many of the water-stained fiberglass tiles missing and exposed wires drooping low from the ceiling. The guts of a computer only half-built dominated the center of the room, as most of the desks had already been removed. The placard over the door read "Mr. Graves".

 

"Looks like they'll have that computer running soon," Ramirez said with a nod.

 

"It appears to be that way, yes." She glanced at the tangle of wires. Could such things deliver what Sentinel had promised? Perhaps. She would not presume to call herself an expert on such things.

 

"Where are you going to put the dorm rooms in?" Ramirez asked, stepping away from the former classroom.

 

"Upstairs," she said, nimbly avoiding a fallen beam. "It is easier to place the training facilities at ground level."

 

Keiko paused to note the sight of a poster for the school play, its edges eroded and waterlogged. If she tilted her head, she could still read the text. She had done that. Implausible as it sounded, she had done that.

 

Ramirez glanced at the poster as well and managed to butcher the pronunciation after three attempts. She corrected him softly and averted her eyes from the ruined shreds of the poster. "It was a silly thing, I suppose."

 

"Wait. You were in the play?" He reached out to rub the curled corner of the poster back into place.

 

"Yes." She felt the blood beginning to rush to her cheeks. "It was Phoebe-chan's idea."

 

Ramirez turned his attention from the poster to Keiko, his eyes momentarily piercing. "Something's bothering you."

 

"No," she lied, banishing the whispers to the furthest corner of her mind. They had no right to examine that memory. None. "I am fine."

 

"You just seemed distracted," Ramirez told her. "It's not like you."

 

"...it was unimportant," she murmured. "You should not concern yourself with it."

"

If you don't want to talk about it..." he began quietly.

 

... there are other ways, his mental voice finished.

 

I had forgotten your ability. Foolish of her -- and foolish that she had seized so suddenly when his voice entered her head.

 

I just thought that it might be easier for you this way.

 

No, she said slowly. It...is. She needed not even make her thoughts so coherent when she reached out to him with her mind, she realized. He would understand her. Keiko could not recall the last time she spoke thus with someone. Had there been a time?

 

Ramirez's expression softened as a thought crystallized. Not in words but in pure understanding. The shard.

 

She tried to mask the curled knots of shame his words provoked. You know of it?

 

Phoebe mentioned it the other night.

 

Oh. An image of Phoebe recoiling from her as the black energy crackled from her eyes flashed unbidden across her mind. She could not place this burden on Phoebe-chan. She knew that.

 

Maybe I could help, though, he offered empathically. I've dealt with psychic problems before. It's not something that'll scare me off. Had he seen what crossed Keiko's consciousness? Had that prompted his offer or his choice of words?

 

I do not wish to be a burden.

 

She could bear this on her own. She had to. Even if it was a lonely weight to carry.

 

She received the impression of an outstretched hand reaching her way, offering her aid. Then let me help so you won't become one.

 

His logic was -- sound enough, she supposed. And she sensed no threat in his thoughts, though perhaps he had the power to mask such things from her...

 

Will you let me help? he asked again.

 

If it would not inconvenience you... In truth, she did not know how to defeat an enemy that expressed itself only in her thoughts.

 

It'll be fine, he assured her.

 

The words and what lay behind them were familiar enough to create a response in her. She chose to set her reaction aside and analyze it later, when the whispers lessened in their intensity. ...yes.

 

*                                  *                                  *

 

Ramirez stepped into the half-finished office. "I got your message, Keiko. What's up?"

 

"The shielding in the training rooms is inadequate, I think -- " She paused, her hand poised over a stack of papers. Ramirez was in neater attire than what he tended to favor; his shirt and pants seemed free of wrinkles. They hung on his frame in a manner that she did not find displeasing.

 

"Are you busy?" Keiko asked.

 

"Not really, no," he told her. "Phoebe and I are planning on going out together tomorrow night anyway."

 

"Not really?" she echoed, tilting her head to the side.

 

He gave a dismissive wave. "Really, don't worry about it. I should be thanking you. She wanted to go see the 20th Anniversary showing of Dirty Dancing."

 

"Dirty Dancing," Keiko repeated slowly. "This is a -- film? Or a play?"

 

"A film," he confirmed, reaching across the desk to turn the stack of papers so that he could read the top one.

 

"A maintenance report," she said, her fingers tracing symbols on the surface of her desk. "I am truly not inconveniencing you?"

 

He shook his head as he read the report. "No. It's fine. I told Phoebe it was for work, and that I'd make it up to her tomorrow." He tapped the report. "We should fax a copy of this to the electricians."

 

It is work, I suppose, she reasoned to herself. And Phoebe understood such things, or claimed to.

 

"Yes. That would be wise."

 

*                      *                      *

 

Ramirez clinked his glass against Keiko's. "Cheers," he said with a smile.

 

She tilted her head to the side. What was cheering about his decision to touch his glass to hers? "Cheers?" she echoed faintly.

 

"No, it's a toast," he explained, gesturing to his glass. "You do that to celebrate something or commemorate something important."

 

"A toast?" she asked. "But this is not bread..."

 

"No, no... that's just the name of the action." He held his glass up again. "You tap your glass against someone else’s when something important happens, like today."

 

"You refer to the school's opening, yes?" She held her glass aloft again. The liquid inside shimmered pleasantly.

 

Ramirez held his out. "Yeah," he said with a pleasant smile. "I've never felt like I accomplished something so... so important before."

 

She touched her glass to his again. The sound was softer this time, but the vibrations from the glass traveled through her fingers and caused them to -- buzz. Keiko cleared her throat. "But surely you have accomplished much. You are head of a department at such a young age..."

 

He shrugged, looking at the side wall. "It is, but it's only because of my powers. This is the first time I've ever helped do something, helped accomplish something so important without them. Helping to build and organize this school... it's something I really feel proud of."

 

"You did very well," she said softly. He had a manner about him that eased relations between himself and the workers they had employed. Keiko had observed it, but she doubted she could replicate the ease of his smile or the firmness of his handshake (and she was still unaccustomed to performing that gesture). "I do not think I could have done this without your aid."

 

"It was a team effort," Ramirez insisted.

 

"Perhaps," she said. "But nevertheless, I am in your debt for the assistance you have given me."

 

"And it never would've been possible without-" Ramirez was cut off as a buzzing sound issued forth from his jacket. He reached inside and produced his cell phone. After a brief glance at the small screen on the phone’s top, he flipped it open. "Hey, Phoebe."

 

She stared at the napkin in her lap. It was only proper for him to take such a call.

 

He listened for a few moments. "No, I'm okay. I'm just stuck at the office right now. No. No, I know it was tonight, Phoebe. I'm off tomorrow, so we'll get dinner then, okay?" He nodded. "Okay, that sounds good. I'll talk to you tomorrow." Ramirez closed his phone and put it back in his pocket.

 

"You are not in the office," she reassured him. "You may leave, if you wish." It would be better for him to do so. She knew that. He was Phoebe's, after all, and they...cared for each other. She sensed the thin tendrils of affection between them when she closed her mundane eye and viewed the world through her mind.

 

"No, I know," Ramirez said, holding his hand up. "Phoebe's mom got stuck at the office too, so I think she's used to getting that sort of call. She's not going to think anything of it."

 

"You -- lied to her, then." She stared down at her hands.

 

"It's not that," Ramirez said, a troubled look on his face. "Well, not quite."

 

"Then what is it?"

 

"It's complicated," he replied, gesturing uselessly.

 

She nodded slowly. Words had their limitations...but other methods of communication did not.

 

May I? she asked, tentatively brushing against his mind with soft fingers forged from her will.

 

It'd be easier, he agree telepathically, his mind submitting to Keiko's entry.

 

She slipped in slowly, glancing only at the thoughts of his flickering across the surface of his consciousness. To do more would be -- it would be improper.

 

At the front of Ramirez's mind was a complex knot of feelings. In the center of the snarl was Phoebe, and her powers. Tangles formed around different areas, they seemed to concentrate around areas of Ramirez's mind from which his more intimate feelings arose. When her mind passed over them, they shied from her, retreating deeper into his consciousness. They were very private thoughts, after all.

 

Her powers make it hard for us to be together sometimes, Ramirez explained, his voice narrating over Keiko's exploration of his consciousness.

 

Oh. She paused. Phoebe's powers created difficulties? She had heard her friend complain about waking up each morning and having to reform her body, but had Ramirez witnessed such struggles? Did they disconcert him?

 

Ramirez brought forth a memory in response to her queries. He and Phoebe, sitting on the couch, arms encircling one another. They pressed their lips together, and slowly, Phoebe's body began to lose form. She slid out of his arms. Waves of frustration still panged loudly in the memory.

 

I still care about her, Ramirez said. I just didn't know how different she was. I didn't realize how hard it would be to have a normal relationship wit her.

 

Normal. I see. She curled the threads of herself inward at that. Normal was a vague and variable term. Poorly defined. She disliked it.

 

And I don't know how to talk to her about it. I know it bothers her. I can sense that. I don't know what to say, or what to do to make it better. I think it's just better if I don't bring it up or make it an issue for her, he told Keiko. At least, not until I know what to do.

 

His thoughts resounded with a tiny network of threads in hers. Yes, they chimed. It is better to wait for such things to be resolved.

 

And beneath them, the deep rumblings of the Shard. She did her best to shield Jason -- no, Ramirez, he was Ramirez -- from the whispers, but they bubbled forth.

 

Aberration. Outcast. Freak.

 

Did they refer to her or to Phoebe? She could not say.

 

Through her normal vision, she saw Ramirez’s lips tighten, though he gave no vocal response to the Shard’s words. The sting of those ideas, however, was evident in his mind, even as he rolled them dutifully across his thoughts, testing the accuracy of those accusations. Their first stop in his head was his memories of Phoebe, where he seemed to acknowledge them as being fitting (even as pangs of pain signaled his unwillingness to agree outright). They traveled through his network of memories, testing the hateful concepts again and again against the people he knew.

 

No, she pleaded, no, pay it no mind. She clamped down hard on the murmurs, pressing against them until they had no room to cry out in the space between each onslaught.

 

Another presence joined hers and pressed down on the thoughts in her mind, gently but with firmness. It was as if someone had placed his hand on hers to help stem the tide, to rein in the Shard before more venom spewed forth.

 

From across the desk, Jason's eyes were boring into Keiko's, his gaze intense and determined, but his eyes soft and concerned. This at least I can help make better, he thought at her with a smile tugging at the sides of his mouth.

 

The poisonous tide receded under the combined weight of their hands. As the whispers died, she looked for her voice, but no words came. She sent him something much simpler in thanks -- gratitude, undiluted by any verbal constraints.

 

*                                  *                                  *

 

"I need you to concentrate, Albert-san." His palms lay on top of Keiko's, but they did not rest there -- they twitched and jumped, sparks of power shooting through his fingertips. "I sense much potential within you, but your control is poor."

 

"Hey, I'm trying! What you're askin's impossible!" the young man protested, opening one of his eyes a crack to look at his teacher.

 

"It is merely difficult. Breathe in on a count of seven, hold for a count of seven, and release on a count of seven. Focus only on the cadence of your breath. Nothing else."

 

"I'll try," the boy muttered, shutting his eyes again to begin breathing. "It's just real hard and-"

 

No discipline. No self-control. He'll be a threat. Dangerous. Fear. Destroy.

 

Silence, she hissed, pressing back the pain building at her temples. Not now. Not now.

 

"The flow of your power is similar to the flow of your breath. Its pattern of movement should feel as natural."

 

"So it's like breathin'," Albert reasoned. He inhaled deeply as the alien conscious began to pound against the inside of Keiko's mind. So many, so little control, so much danger. Run! Fear! Destroy!

 

"Precisely," she choked out through gritted teeth. Her hand jerked beneath Albert's, itching to massage the knot forming above her right eyebrow. No. She would not allow it that influence. Stop, she ordered the voices, but their whispering rubbed against her mind and scratched its fibers raw.

 

Pain, the presence hissed. Hurt. Not again. Never again. Never again!

 

He is not a threat. Her nails left deep gouges in the wood of her desk.

 

"Breathe in," she managed to say, as much for her own sake as for Albert's.

 

"Is something wrong?" Albert asked. Was Keiko's composure slipping so much that a child noticed?

 

"Attend to the task you have been given." She winced slightly at the harshness in her tone.

 

Kill! the shard implored. Danger! So terrible the pain. Stop it! Stop him! Kill!

 

She pitched forward over the desk as the edges of her vision grew dark -- tight, constricted, something pressed upon her chest and she could not breathe...

 

Breathe in.

 

Breathe in.

 

"...we will reschedule this, I think," she whispered.

 

"Y-yes," the boy stammered, hurrying out of the room with a worried glance over his shoulder.

 

The shard continued to tear at Keiko's thoughts from within, sometimes pleading, sometimes commanding, sometimes simply howling in agony, making its pain into Keiko's.

 

"Phoebe-cha -- " she cried, then stopped herself. No. Phoebe must not be burdened with this, this -- ah. (More pain lanced through every inch of her, searing cherry-red fibers twisting into every neural pathway.) It terrified her, and rightly so.

 

And she lacked the strength to -- (stop) -- talk it through.

 

Jason. Where was Jason?

 

She had enough strength left to cloak her presence from the minds of her students as she staggered through the halls, clutching at the walls for any hint of solidity. Familiarity. But the walls had long been rebuilt and painted over. A clean new facade covered the school she once knew. Instead, sterility stretched everywhere in every direction swirling around Keiko.

 

The lab, the shard moaned. Pain. Pain! Hate. Pain! Hide (run) kill.

 

She dragged herself through the redecorated halls, biting her lip until a coppery tang suffused her mouth. She would not cry out. The shard continued to batter Keiko's mind from within, shrieking to run away from the lab and the pain and kill everything and hide and run and hate until finally a familiar sound pierced the clamor.

 

"Good, Duncan," Jason was saying behind a door on the right hand side of the hall. "Good. Envision it, then reach into it."

 

She pressed herself to the door. Let him finish soon...please.

 

The shard hissed in Keiko's head. Lust (hate). Hide! Destroy (lust).

 

After what seemed like an eternity, the door opened. "Okay. We'll meet again on Wednesday, Duncan."

 

"Right, Inspector," the boy said, already deeply engaged in his Gamestation Portable.

 

She tried to push the voices to the back of her mind, but it was as futile as pushing back the incoming tide with nothing but her hands.

 

Jason and his fellow Psi-Division officer Curio stepped out of the room behind Duncan. Jason was patting the boy on the shoulder (Strike! Distracted (kill) strike! Lust.) as Curio spoke. "Hey, want to go to the Imperial Dragon after this, Ramirez? They've got an amazing buffet."

 

Oh. He had plans. It would be impolite to trouble him.

 

Keiko's knees buckled. The lab! the shard moaned, dredging up memories of – that time. (She would not examine them further, she would not, no matter how they glittered in front of her, bright and searing and…no. Focus. She must focus.) Pain! Destroy kill HATE. It grasped for the threads of Keiko’s power with black and twisted fingers, seeking to crush the school she had built, to destroy the bright future she had promised her charges and leave nothing but grey ash in its wake.

 

"No!" she shrieked, her concentration snapping. Her knees collided with the tiled floor. "No..." she moaned again, but the tide of whispers kept rising --

 

Hurt, the shard panted. Kill (lust) destroy! All destroy! Run (hurt). She found her hand trying to unclench itself, her power trying to seize the wall and burrow in, to rip it to pieces and tear it down. Murder! Destroy! Kill (hide) hate!

 

"It's me," the fuzzy, undefined blob assured her in Jason's voice. "Curio, I'm sorry, but I think I'm going to need to pass on dinner."

Someone scooped Keiko off the ground and lifted her gently into the air as Curio sighed. "No, it's alright, Jason. Need a hand?"

"I can handle it," Jason assured him.

Hate, the shard spat. Kill!

 

"Help..." she murmured, resting in the figure's arms. She doubted she could move even if she wanted to. "Stop it," she told the Shard, but her voice was timorous. Weak. No.

 

Someone (Jason?) pressed a warm hand against Keiko's forehead, and quiet thoughts began to trickle into her mind, soothing their way in.

 

"It'll be okay," Jason's voice assured her. "I'm here. Let me help," he said as more calming, gentle thoughts entered her mind.

 

The new thoughts began to lap at the tempest raging in her mind; she felt the pressure in her skull drop, noted that the pace of the throbbing slowed. Keiko took in a deep, shuddering breath. The air tasted sweet.

 

"Good," Jason said. Yes, it was his voice. That much was clear. And it was Jason's face too, calm and confident but still so…there were lines around his eyes and tautness in his face she had rarely seen before. "Breathe. Just like that. Breathe in for seven counts, then hold it for seven counts. Let your breath guide you."

 

"...that is how I train my students," she said. The familiarity of the refrain was useful. Comforting.

In for seven. She let the soothing thoughts build in her mind as she took in breath, and exhaled as much of the essence of the Shard out as she could. The Shard's pleading and screaming began to quiet down to nonsensical muttering, its poisonous roars reduced to discontented babble. Much quieter. Much more manageable.

 

"It's how I was taught, too," he told her.

 

"Some things are constant, it seems..." Her speech flowed more freely now. That was a good sign.

 

"Are you feeling better now?" he asked quietly.

 

The coils wrapped around her chest started the slow process of unwinding. "I believe so."

 

"I'm glad," Jason said. His fingers brushed across cheek and then retracted instantly. “I’m sorry,” he said, his speech rapid. “I—that wasn’t…”

 

"No, it is -- " She could still feel a trail of heat where his fingers had lingered. Keiko cleared her throat. "Thank you." She lowered her voice. "I should not have had to bother you for such things."

 

Jason took a deep breath. "No, it's all right. I'm here to help you, whenever you need it. I'm not going to let you deal with this thing alone."

 

"Thank you," she said. What else could she say?

 

Apparently Jason could also find no other way to reply, so he simply smiled.

 

*                                  *                                  *

 

Jason leaned across the desk. "Are you sure you're feeling alright? You look tired, Keiko."

 

"It was draining," she admitted quietly, still unable to meet his eyes for the fear she might catch her reflection in his pupils. "But I will recover. I must." If she did not, her shame would be even greater.

 

"There has to be some way to make this easier on you," Jason said, half to himself. "It's just a mental stress, so there has to be a way to relieve that pressure before it builds up on you."

 

"I have been trying to think of a way to discharge the energies safely," she said. "But I am unsure of the influence they might have on other minds. I do not wish to risk exposing  others to this."

 

"Maybe if we isolated you while we did it," Jason offered. "I could take us to the middle of the desert or an empty island in the Pacific. It would just be the two of us..."

 

"The two of us," she echoed. The idea sent reverberations rolling through her; she halted herself before she shivered. "I -- that is kind of you. You have shown me much kindness," she continued. "I confess I am at a loss as to how to repay it."

 

Jason's hand drifted across the table to rest on Keiko's. "Don't think about it like that. I just want to help you. That's all."

 

"I know. I can feel it." And she could. He did not attempt to mask the sentiment. It pulsed and glowed beneath the surface of his mind in a manner she found...pleasing.

 

The feeling reverberated across the air between the two of them, and a gentle smile crossed Jason's face. He stroked the back of Keiko's hand with his thumb. The layers of authority he shrouded himself in, the honors and accolades he had earned; all of them fell from his shoulders like a cloak caught by the breeze. All that remained was Jason Ramirez, his smile gentle and his eyes…soft. Warm.

 

She rested her head on his shoulder. It seemed like the right thing to do. "I should be stronger than this," she whispered.

 

"You don't need to be strong all the time," Jason whispered back. Was he responding to Keiko, or to someone else?

 

But if I am not, who will be? Her unvoiced thoughts hung freely in the air, where both she and Jason could detect them.

 

We can be strong for each other, his thoughts replied, drifting through the air and mingling with Keiko's. A sensation, a strange one, hung heavy in the air, as if those thoughts were drawing them together.

Jason's hand rested on Keiko's leg. Everyone needs someone.

 

"Jason, I..." And her mind reached for his, seeking a mooring in the encroaching darkness.

 

His thoughts embraced her, gentle but strong, wrapping around her mind to touch her consciousness. You don't need to speak.

 

No, she agreed, her mind coiling around his. She tilted her chin up...

...and then his lips pressed against hers (or hers against his), and she thought of nothing at all; her thoughts drifted up to brush against something bright.

Until a word shattered the silence. Phoebe.

She sprang back.

 

Inspector Ramirez's head jerked away as well. "Oh God. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to-"

 

"No," she agreed, her breath returning to her rapidly, "nor did -- I am sorry, I..."

 

"It was my fault," he said. "I wasn't thinking, and... oh God, what am I going to tell Phoebe?"

 

"It was a mistake," she said slowly. Her thoughts still whirled around her head in an uncontrolled spiral. "An -- an error."

 

"Yeah," Inspector Ramirez agreed quickly. "Just a mistake. It won't happen again. "He drew in a deep breath. "Okay. Okay. What do we do now?"

 

"It was an aberration." Her lips pressed together. "We should not mention it."

 

“I don't want Phoebe to know," he said, turning back but table to bring himself to look Keiko in the eye.

 

She nodded, turning her attention to the floor. "It would only hurt her."

 

"I don't want to hurt her," Ramirez swore quietly, studying the ceiling. "I don't. I care about her."

 

"As do I." Phoebe was her sister. Her sister. How could she?

 

Ramirez was quiet for a long time. Keiko could hear his thoughts. His care for Phoebe was evident, despite his complaints about her composition or her choice in films. Her thoughts must have been no less clear to him. The guilt rebounded between the two of them, back and forth, each impact devastating.

"I have to go," the inspector said at last.

 

"That would be best," she agreed. She stared at the deep scratches on her desk.

 

He did not pause at the door, but instead elected to turn his head mid-stride. “I’m sorry,” he informed the ground. And then he was gone, disappearing through the doorway.

The weight of her deeds remained behind.

Another burden for her to bear. But she would shoulder it. She must.