Twelve has lost count on how many times he has cursed Five's name in the past minute alone as he runs from wagon to wagon, making sure every passenger in the train is out. The chaos his smoke bomb caused, and what the screaming around him is doing to his vision –muddling it in dull colors that are barely different from one another– don't help the situation.

How much time does he have? Three minutes? Two minutes?

He hurries down in the direction where he and Nine placed the explosive, the smoke alone is enough to have people scrambling out of their seats and hurrying to the exits, but he still screams at them to get out. The blast isn't enough to take out the whole train, perhaps it will only take out two wagons at most, but neither he nor Nine want to take any chances.

Five is not playing just mind games anymore, and this time she has put the lives of dozens of people at stake. If people are actually killed the goal of Sphinx will be greatly compromised, and maybe that's what he fears the most; all their work, all their careful planning, all these years, barely living with only one objective in mind only for it to fall on one of Five's whims.

Twelve moves with a steady pace, squinting against the smoke when he enters the next wagon, it is empty and he can hear most people are already outside. His brain tells him everyone ahead has evacuated already and still, he needs to make sure. He's about to step onto the next car when somebody grabs his arm.

"Not that way!"

The burst of soft yellow alone stops him in his tracks. He stumbles a little, and he's jerked back so suddenly he is barely able to keep on his feet. His arm is tugged frantically and he finds himself being pulled out the nearest exit. He starts turning to get free, to get a good look at the person urging him to move, but his vision turns to white, the screaming is drowned by a loud whistling sound,glass shatters and he's shoved forward by the wave of heat at his back, he feels himself being lifted off the ground, and before his brain can process what is happening everything goes black and silent.

–

Twelve wakes to the sound of sobbing, coughing and agitated voices. He groans and rolls to his side. It takes him several more seconds to finally open his eyes and when he does all he can do is stare, his muscles locking in place and making it imposible for him to move. He knows what the aftermath of an explosion looks like. He knows what to expect and this… should be it. People shuffling about, covered in soot, crying, but at least still in one piece; smoke coming out in a steady flow from the wreckage of two wagons further down the station, still engulfed in flames that are a deeper ember than anything he's ever seen before.

And that's it, he realizes, blinking as if expecting the patchwork of colors comprising the grim scene before him to disappear. He is seeing actual colors, not the dull shades he's used to from people's voices. These are bright and vibrant. Beautiful and awful. Plunging him into a new reality. Colors have almost always been there, at least since he met Nine at the institution, but he's only now just realizing that they were muted versions of themselves.

He doesn't move, doesn't even sit up, just stares head, and takes it all in as if seeing for the first time. The magnitude of what has just happened hits him in different and conflicting ways. He tries swallowing the knot in his throat, fights the roll of nausea in his stomach, just as another realization hits him.

If he can see colors then that means–

A moan close to him tears his attention away from the people down the platform and he sits up.

Just a couple of feet away from him is a girl with short black hair, pushing herself into a sitting position with bruised and trembling arms. The dress she's wearing is a blue so intense that he finds himself wondering, for an instant, if that's what Nine's blue voice truly looks like. Her clothes obviously didn't provide much protection from the blast and her legs are cut and bleeding in some places, she's probably going to have some burns on them as well, as he can already feel the stinging in his own skin.

He opens his mouth to ask her if she's okay but she turns to him so sudenly that he's struck silent.

She has fine features behind the smudges of dirt on her face, and dark brown eyes that are wide with what he assumes is either shock or fear, maybe both. For one irrational moment he is sure his cover is blown, and that she somehow knows that all of this is his doing.

It isn't until she's right beside him, having crawled up to him despite her scraped knees, that he realizes she's not running away, and that what he sees in her face might actually be concern.

"Are you okay?"

His own eyes widen at the pale yellow of her voice, the same yellow he saw before he was pulled from the train, before the explosion. He had seen muted yellows before, same as with the rest of the colors he could perceive through his synesthesia, but never one that was this warm.

She touches his shoulder hesitantly, making him wince not so much at the sting but at the sudden contact.

She retrieves her hand quickly "I'm sorry!"

There it is again, that pretty hue that makes the ugliness around them disappear, and he just wants her to keep talking, but he must look strange or deeply disturbed, just staring and not saying anything.

"It's okay…" he finally rasps and then clears his throat "I'm fine."

She stares at him, and if he didn't know any better he'd say she is as mesmerized by his voice as he is by hers.

"Are you sure?" she asks again after a moment "Your glasses…" she reaches for something next to him and hands him the red rimmed glasses he had picked as part of his disguise, both lenses are cracked and one of the temples is bent.

So much for that.

He takes them from her, letting his touch linger on her hand a second longer than necessary, only to set them aside again.

She looks a little bit embarrassed "I suppose they won't be of much use to you now,"

"I never needed them," he says softly, but before she can ask he looks at her in the eye "So, it's you."

Her eyes widen again at his bluntness and he does his best not to smile.

"Is that why you followed me?" he asks, but really, he's wondering how he didn't see her first.

"I was getting out of the train, I saw you–I mean, I saw the colors first," she looks around, her expression overwhelmed, and he's strangely glad he's not the only one "You ran past me, and everything became brighter, but you didn't react. I thought that maybe I was mistaken, but I had to make sure. I followed you but you weren't heading to any of the exits…I kept calling after you and I guess you didn't hear or notice until I finally caught up….and then…" she trails off "I just wanted to know."

His lips twitch slightly because he wouldn't have thought, at a first glance, that someone as fragile looking as her would push through the chaos and the panic to follow the person she thought was her soulmate.

"Have you no sense of self-preservation?" he means to tease, but she immediately looks affronted, if a little guilty, a little sad.

He feels a twinge of guilt himself, he would be worse off if she hadn't pulled him out when she did, maybe he wouldn't even have made it in one piece.

She looks about to respond when his cell phone vibrates in his pocket. He takes it out and sighs at the fractured screen, at least it still works.

Nine sounds agitated on the other side, asking why he hadn't picked up before and if he was alright.

He is hyper-aware of the girl next to him as he assures Nine that he's fine, or as fine as can be expected. He tries not to say too much as Nine updates him on the situation with Five, and he keeps his own report on the aftermath to a few words.

When he ends the call there's a small smile on her face.

"What?" he asks

"It looks like you already have someone who really cares about you. They sounded worried,"

Twelve winces, not realizing Nine's voice had been that loud.

She waves her hands in front of her, misinterpreting his expression "I didn't mean to eavesdrop, it's just… their voice sounded concerned, that's all."

"That was my best friend and until today, I thought he was the reason I could see color in voices," he shakes his head "no, I still believe it. Colors were never this… vivid, but they were there, ever since I met him."

"You see color in voices?"

He nods "It's called synesthesia, but I didn't have it until I met him, so…"

She seems to consider this " Maybe you have more than one soulmate…" she looks down at her hands "you're lucky,"

He doesn't know what to say, he's never considered himself lucky, of all things. But as he places the phone back in his pocket, and she starts getting up slowly, mindful of her bruises –bruises that she wouldn't have gotten if she hadn't followed him, he realizes that she's right.

"I guess I am."

Sirens blare somewhere nearby and Twelve stands up as well. She's looking around for something and he tilts his head "What is your name?"

She doesn't look at him as she finally locates a big duffel bag, now dirty and with some of its contents scattered around it. She winces as she has to lower herself to the ground once again to gather her things "Lisa,"

"Lisa," he repeats, and kneels next to her to help her. Instead of offering his own name, he asks another question "Were you going on a trip?"

She shakes her head, focusing on packing her stuff quickly before he can see more of the contents in her bag. But he doesn't need to, just a glimpse of clothes and a couple of personal items are enough to give him a guess.

"Running away?"

Her hands stop for a moment and she doesn't respond as she zips the bag.

"Thank you," she says instead and with his help, both get back to their feet.

He had noticed the bruises when he first saw her, a couple of small dark marks on her upper arms that could't be blamed on the recent explosion. "Is your home that bad?"

Twelve doesn't expect her to answer, but she adjust the bag across her body slowly and mutters "Not just home… we should–" she shakes her head, and breathes in deeply, as if giving herself courage "I should go,"

"Where?"

Lisa responds with a little shrug and takes a step back, but she doesn't turn, holding his gaze.

"You need to get medical attention, the paramedics have probably already arrived, you should get to them."

"I'm fine," she says, and offers him a weak smile "I'l take care of these cuts myself,"

He wants to tell her that it's more than just the cuts. It's the burns, those bruises, and any other damage that she might not be yet aware of due to the shock and the circumstances of it all.

But Lisa goes on "If I let them see me they'll ask questions and the police will get involved,"

"Maybe it's for the best, you can still–"

"I'm not going back home."

He is surprised at the sudden harshness in her tone, and has to admit that any first impressions he might have had of her under different circumstances would've been incredibly deceiving. She looks a little scared, but determined. Tough.

"I can't have the police asking me questions either," He knows he's saying too much with that statement alone, but he smiles at her "I guess we should go together, after all",

What is he doing? Neither he nor Nine can afford getting entangled in this soulmate nonsense. It should have been enough of a sign that he almost got her killed on their very first meeting. This corageous but fragile looking girl can't be stuck with him, he will only make her life more complicated. He also has so much to explain to her if she's going to stay with them… that is, if she still wants to stay after he tells her who he is.

And yet…

"What do you say, Lisa? What's one more reckless thing to add to your list today?"

She seems to consider it, but he can see in her body language that she's tired and more than a little relieved by the offer "You already have someone, I can't intrude–"

"That's not what you'll be doing."

And how can he leave knowing she's out here, wounded and alone, without a place to sleep? How can he go back and forget that he ever met her? "Come on," he offers her his hand "It won't be long before police and paramedics swarm the place, it'll be harder to slip out."

Her gaze travels to the smoldering remains of the two wagons ahead and then back to him. The air hangs heavy with unasked questions. Once again, he has a strong feeling that somehow she already knows. She knows he's dangerous, she knows he's different, she knows he's a dead end and not the solution to her problems.

"Lisa?" He steels himself for her answer. If she refuses, this might be the last time he ever sees her. He will have time to think this through and he just knows he will make it a point to never cross paths with her again. And maybe it's for the best…

He doesn't need this anyway.

He doesn't need her making everything in his life unbereably bright.

He doesn't need the colors or that warm pale yellow.

He doesn't need somebody else to worry about.

He doesn't need–

"You haven't told me your name yet," she says at last, and then her hand is in his, gripping it tight.