by StarAndrea
“Lyris says you’re bonded?” Jenna repeated.
She was a much easier person to stare at right now, so he did. “Yes,” he repeated. “Why is that surprising? He announced as much to the entire team yesterday.”
“Can I go?” Lyris asked abruptly. “I don’t want to be here.”
“No,” Kris said. “None of us want to be here, but we haven’t had breakfast yet, and we’re not breaking tradition now.”
“Good,” Jenna said. “I like the sound of breakfast. Also, anyone can resonate. Bonding means you decided to do something about it. Right? Is that the difference?”
“Most people use them interchangeably,” Lyris muttered. “And they don’t want to have breakfast with us, Kris; they already have a date. They’re going to discuss un-sabotaging whatever he did to New Hope.”
“They can discuss it with the rest of us,” Kris said firmly. “We always eat breakfast together after we’ve been up all night.”
“For safety reasons,” Timmin agreed. “Mostly involving forcing each other to get some sleep. We tell everyone else it’s a team debrief so they leave us alone.”
“I’m not hungry,” Lyris said.
“Oh, good,” Kris said. “I wouldn’t want you to have to stop sulking long enough to eat something.”
“Oh, sarcasm,” Lyris responded, in exactly the same tone of voice. “Thanks for treating me like your husband; that makes everything better.”
“Wow,” Timmin said. He sounded so genuinely surprised that Saryn couldn’t help looking at him, and he found Timmin studying him in return. “What did you do to make Lyris mean?”
Saryn frowned. Nothing about Lyris’ response seemed different from Kris and Timmin’s typical banter. Out of character, perhaps, but not out of line with team norms.
“You literally just got done saying I don’t like sarcasm,” Lyris snapped. “I think by now it’s obvious that I can’t be in a room with Saryn and still function normally, so I’m not sure why anyone wants me to stay.”
“I could hear you from space,” Saryn said.
There was a moment of silence where he didn’t dare look at Lyris, but Timmin and Kris both seemed to be doing it for him. When no one said anything, Saryn added, “Even the first time, with the enhancers. That was you helping me focus, wasn’t it.”
It was easier to look at Lyris when he wasn’t looking back. Saryn hadn’t meant to watch him when he said, “If the other side of the system isn’t far enough, I don’t know where you’re planning to go that you think you can successfully avoid me.”
“Eltare,” Lyris said.
“No one is going to Eltare,” Kris interjected.
“Could we go to breakfast?” Jenna asked.
“If you have some kind of empathic bond,” Timmin said, “doesn’t that explain why you’re constantly aggravating each other? Resonance isn’t fun at first either, but at least you can ignore it some of the time.”
“True empaths make a distinction between resonance, which can feel just like sourceless intuition, and shared awareness that’s strong enough to be considered a bond,” Kris said.
“Why am I the one telling him this?” she added. “You’ve been together for hours; what have you been talking about all this time?”
“They haven’t really been talking to each other,” Timmin offered. “Unless they’re doing it where I can’t hear them, which is possible.”
“We’re not,” Saryn said.
“We are,” Lyris countered. “It’s just not important, so you ignore it.”
“I didn't ignore you,” Saryn said, frowning.
“You're ignoring me right now,” Lyris said.
“All evidence to the contrary,” Jenna remarked. “I personally would argue that Saryn doesn't have a history of focusing on important things, but he probably disagrees.”
“I don't have a problem with you,” Lyris said, “and I'm even, for certain definitions of the word, glad you're here. But is any of that relevant?”
Jenna didn't hesitate. “What you said or what I said?” she asked. “Because if relevance is a requirement, then I have nothing to contribute to this conversation.”
Her insouciance made Saryn smile, and he wasn’t the only one. He didn’t recognize Lyris’ amusement except by the sudden lack of irritation. He might have thought it was only due to Jenna distracting him if Kris hadn’t commented.
“Okay,” she said. “I can’t tell if it feels stranger when they don’t agree with each other or when they do.”
That made him look at Lyris, whose smile disappeared but the sense of lightness remained. “Yeah,” Lyris said. “We’ll have to work on that.”
Though the words weren’t explicitly directed at him, they evoked a pleasant sense of companionship that made Saryn want to agree. He couldn’t help remembering the phrase “contagious moods,” and he wondered if Lyris had to work harder at not overreacting than most people did. The implication that he was planning to work on it here, rather than on Eltare, was a positive one.
“I’m not that sensitive,” Timmin remarked, “but I like it better when they do. If you’re taking requests,” he added.
“Wait,” Jenna said. “Can everyone else tell what Saryn and Lyris are feeling? Because I can’t.”
“Well, consider yourself lucky,” Kris said. “They’re not subtle. But Lyris put up with me and Timmin when we first met, so I think we owe him.”
Lyris made a sound that could have been a laugh. Saryn thought it was more incredulous than amused, but Lyris just said, “You definitely do.”
“Hey, but we’re not empaths!” Timmin objected. “I mean, not full empaths. We’re not as strong as you.”
“Yes,” Lyris said pointedly. “Exactly.”
“We didn’t project as much,” Kris surmised, “but we’re not getting as much now as he was then, either. So. We’ll all just have to figure it out.”
“I will require instruction,” Saryn said. He obviously didn’t know enough about empaths to follow the discussion. He should at least be able to learn enough about Lyris to avoid unexpectedly upsetting him. And if Rissin’s intervention at Council HQ was representative, he needed to learn more about how he himself was being perceived by psychically sensitive individuals.
“What?” Lyris was looking at Kris, and he folded his arms as Saryn watched. “What are you looking at me for? I’m not training him; one of us will cry or quit or both.”
“Well, none of us can do it,” Kris said. “And given how open-minded and receptive to the idea he isn’t, I don’t think he’s going to listen to anyone else.”
“He doesn’t listen to me!” Lyris exclaimed.
“He only listens to you,” Timmin said. “I saw him with the Council. Taking suggestions isn’t his first reaction to anyone or anything.”
“Excuse me,” Saryn said. He didn’t know whether to be amused or offended, but both seemed appropriate. “I’m glad you all have such a high opinion of my adaptability, but I assure you, I am capable of learning new things.”
“Then ask Lyris to teach you,” Kris told him. “He knows what you need to know, and he’s not going to do it because we want him to. It has to be because you want him to.”
“He doesn’t want me to,” Lyris said.
Kris raised her eyebrows at Saryn. “Do you?” she asked.
He knew a test when he heard one, but he wasn’t interested in his role on her team. He was interested in how to control the way he presented himself to the rest of the world. It was very clear that Lyris had experience with that, and might be able to provide useful feedback.
“I understand that my attitude makes being around me difficult,” he told Lyris. “If you are willing to educate me despite this, I would be very appreciative.”
Lyris liked him. There was nothing in his posture to say he was anything but defensive, and he glared as though the opposite were true. “I don’t see why I should be the only one to compromise,” he said. “Change your attitude.”
> Saryn smiled. It was an audacious demand, and he found he enjoyed the challenge. “Agreed.”
Lyris just looked at him, and Saryn knew he would accept. He also knew that making promises to each other wasn’t enough. But maybe that was the role of Lyris’ team: to keep an eye on them, to hold them to it, and to relieve some of the pressure in between times.
“You’re very confident,” Lyris told him. He sounded suspicious, but he was probably more fond than anything. It was the fact that Saryn could now identify some of the conflicts in what he knew that made him think he could learn.
“Yes,” Saryn said, watching Lyris’ reaction when he added, “You like it.”
Lyris’ expression didn’t change in the slightest. “Is this your retaliation for me telling Timmin you like mystery?”
“I remember you strongly implying that I find you charming and enigmatic,” Saryn replied. “In addition to telling Timmin that I like mystery.”
Now Lyris’ expression relaxed into a grin, and just like that, he was the unexpected man who had shown up on Saryn’s way home and asked to meet him for dinner. “I did, didn’t I,” Lyris agreed. “And I was right. So if I stop trying to get you to say you’re an empath, will you stop pretending it doesn’t matter?”
Saryn considered those terms, well aware that the rest of the Rangers were watching with amusement and curiosity and perhaps some amount of disbelief. “I’m not prepared to make any public statements about my identity,” he said carefully. “And if that identity is as you say, then I may have to do and even think things you disagree with in order to keep it from becoming common knowledge.”
“No,” Lyris said, staring back at him. Apparently this was too much, since he immediately contradicted his suggestion. “You’re an empath.”
“Then I’m breaking the law,” Saryn said evenly. “If I believe that, I can’t in good conscience do my job.”
No one said anything for a moment that was too long. Jenna wanted to, he could tell, but she didn’t dare. Saryn didn’t dare look at her. Finally it was Lyris who turned, giving her a look that Saryn couldn’t interpret. “What,” he said.
Jenna didn’t pretend she had no idea what he was talking about. “Isn’t that at least the letter of what you want?” she said. “He obviously thinks it matters if he isn’t willing to tell anyone.”
“Yeah,” Lyris said, with a clipped tone that sounded almost savage. “We can’t have a Ranger who hates empaths. That’s the opposite of everything we stand for on Elisia.”
“I don’t hate anyone,” Saryn snapped. “I will publicly advocate for empaths anywhere and any way you wish. I will not declare myself one because it will end my career. Make a different request,” he added, “and I will honor it.”
Kris looked up at that, and Saryn pointed at her before she could speak. “Not you,” he said. “I’m already familiar with the capricious nature of your requests.” He saw Jenna smile out of the corner of his eye.
Kris shrugged. “Your loss,” she said. “I was going to suggest you let him touch you. That’s how she calmed you down earlier, and you’re obviously terrible at talking. Ironically,” she added.
“That’s… not the worst idea,” Lyris said. He sounded as careful as Saryn felt, and it was such an improvement over disappointment and betrayal that Saryn would have agreed to almost anything. “Can I--just for grounding? I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
Timmin made a sound that was unmistakably a laugh, and he grinned when they both looked at him. “Sorry,” he said, not sounding sorry at all. “But yeah you do. Even I want to make him uncomfortable, and he didn’t do anything to me.”
“I’m an empath,” Lyris said, in a voice that was as exasperated as it was amused. “I don’t want to make anyone uncomfortable. I just want other people to stop making me uncomfortable, which is almost the opposite and also much harder.”
When Lyris glanced back at him, Saryn waited for his gaze to linger before he nodded. “Yes,” he added, in case it wasn’t clear. “I have no objection.”
“To me touching you?” Lyris asked. “Not saying no isn’t the same as saying yes.”
“I said yes,” Saryn reminded him. “If this is your request, then I agree to it.”
That made Lyris hesitate again, and of course it was Kris who rolled her eyes. “While we’re young,” she said. “He agreed; just do it. Maybe it will teach us all something.”
“Yeah, don’t get caught between empaths and breakfast,” Jenna muttered.
Saryn looked at her and she added, “What, empaths in general. No one specifically. It’s a general life lesson. Also, you’re a lot of trouble for someone who has a reputation for getting things done.”
“Does he?” Kris asked. “Because you couldn’t prove it by me.”
“He was actually really good with the Council,” Timmin offered.
“Well, by comparison,” Jenna said. “Who wouldn’t be.”
Saryn wanted to smile, so it shouldn’t have surprised him that Lyris looked amused when he stopped an arms’ length away. “I’ll just touch your forehead,” Lyris told him, like it didn’t mean anything at all. “You know the enhancers make any kind of contact strange at first, right?”
Having experienced the phenomenon in great detail, Saryn didn’t think a simple affirmative answer would convey the depth of his understanding. But it was the polite thing to say, so he just nodded again. “Yes,” he said.
“They both know,” Kris added.
Lyris didn’t look away from him, and the reminder of Jenna caused no chagrin. “Okay,” he said. “Think of good things.”
Saryn assumed that would matter to an empath, but he didn’t realize how serious the instruction was until Lyris lifted his hand and laid his palm carefully on Saryn’s forehead. The launch bay unfolded into a kaleidoscope of repeating patterns and people and perceptions. There was no roar of sound or explosion of light, no rush of sensation other than the way everything he could sense was suddenly more. There were echoes under and on top of each other so that every thought was amplified two, ten, twenty times.
“All right?” Lyris asked. It was impossible to say where his voice came from, and the realization was unexpectedly dizzying. He reached out and Lyris grabbed his arm, but the flare of alarm made it exponentially worse.
“Help,” he heard Lyris say. “Jenna.” Too calm for the way the world spun, but he was always telling Saryn to focus. To breathe. To be as calm as he seemed; wasn’t that what he’d said?
“Yeah,” Lyris said, and this time he sounded quieter.
He was sure Jenna didn’t speak, but he could hear her confusion as clearly as though she had. He could also feel her hand on his other arm. He fumbled for her fingers with his own and she let him hold her hand instead.
Lyris didn’t ask again, but Saryn heard the question anyway. “I’m all right,” he said, as evenly as he could. He thought it came out sounding relatively normal. Lyris was only holding his arm now, but that didn’t make any sense. What did touching him have to do with anything?
“Yeah?” Lyris said carefully. “Sorry for worrying about you. I know that made it worse.”
“What happened?” Jenna wanted to know. She squeezed his fingers back when he tightened his grip, and he only knew he’d done it after she responded.
“I lost my balance.” Saryn glanced around, but the launch bay looked exactly as it had before. The double vision was missing, and he could only assume it had come and gone with Lyris’ touch.
“You were dizzy when the enhancers first fired, too,” Jenna said. “Is that normal? Why did it happen now?”
“I probably overwhelmed them,” Lyris said. He didn’t let go of Saryn’s elbow, but apparently contact through clothing didn’t have the same effect. “It’s only grounding because it prompts you to focus on one person to the exclusion of others. Focusing on me is probably kind of… strange.”
“It’s not strange for us,” Kris said. “I mean, you do it to us, and it
works fine.”
“Yeah,” Lyris said. “And you’re probably a hundred times less sensitive than he is.”
Jenna was less sensitive than Kris. At least that was the implication. Saryn tried to relax his grip on her hand, but she didn’t let go.
Yeah, Lyris thought. Exactly.
Saryn looked at him, and Lyris smiled. “See, I was trying to say that privately, because you didn’t say it out loud and I don’t know if Jenna cares. But when you look at me as soon as I say something, that makes it really obvious.”
“What about me?” Jenna asked.
“And so it begins,” Kris said.
There was a sense from Lyris that he was waiting for Saryn to answer Jenna. Not a thought, as such, not words or instruction or even expectation. Mostly curiosity: would Saryn prioritize her question, would he know what to say, would he be willing to speak.
Saryn didn’t think Lyris meant it as a challenge. He took it as one anyway.
“If you are less sensitive than Kris,” he said, willing to use the euphemism now that it had been offered, “then perhaps that explains why I would find your focus most helpful. The thought occurred to me just now, and Lyris agreed.
“We didn’t deliberately speak so you couldn’t hear,” Saryn added. “My thought, and likely his reaction to it, was involuntary.”
“And probably you turning to look at me afterward, too,” Lyris said. “We’re going to have to practice, unless you want to broadcast this to everyone who sees us.”
“I think I’ve been clear in my opposition to that,” Saryn said.
“Well, you won’t be the first,” Timmin said. “Pretty much everyone who resonates has to figure it out eventually.”
“Some more publicly than others,” Jenna said.
“They’re not the ones holding hands,” Timmin said. “They walked the streets together tonight and didn’t have a problem.”
Lyris let go of his arm abruptly, like he’d just realized he was still holding it.
“So do we tell people it’s Jenna?” Kris asked, looking from one of them to the next. “If you have problems keeping your thoughts to yourself, the resonance explanation should satisfy people. But telling them you’re bonded to an empath like Lyris isn’t any better than admitting you’re one yourself.”