At first, it had been a shock. Never before had a Guardian been revived at such a disadvantage. She had had trouble walking, and with one of her hands, and she'd been covered in scars. nearly blind in one eye as well, but she had since recovered from most of the wounds of her previous life. The scars were fading, her vision was improving, her hands steady, and her stride true.

But there were some injuries Light could not heal, no matter how much he wished it could. Some wounds could only be soothed with time, and even then, there were always scars to remind them.

His Guardian was mute.

Physically, there was nothing wrong with her. According to the doctors, it was an emotional trauma that had stolen away her will to speak. She knew sign language, and she was intelligent. She had talent, he could see it, but he could also see that part of her was still too broken for this world. She wasn't ready to become a Guardian yet. Maybe she never would; there was talk that she might not be qualified, unless she started speaking again.

It had been a shock, at first. But he had long since grown used to it. He no longer felt the long silences smothering him, nor did he any longer have second thoughts about choosing her. This was his Guardian, Sierra Rogers, and he didn't mind at all any more. He was even content to remain nameless; for what used was a name, when it would never be spoken, after all?

It was evening at the Tower. The sun hung low, outlining the Traveler and the City in amber and gold, making the scenery look like something out of the fantasy novel Sierra was reading. The temperature was moderate, warm enough for organics to be comfortable, but cool enough that the warmth didn't get unpleasant over time. She sat in the window, knees bent to chest-level, reading with her hair in a braid, while he flew lazy patterns in the air just outside.

She was catching up on what she had missed over the past few centuries. Right now she was nearing the end of the third Harry Potter book. She seemed to enjoy it. He was happy for that. She enjoyed so little.

And she was enjoying it. Very much so. And she had come across a particular word, a particular name of one of the characters. She liked it. It was simple, catchy, cute. A shiny, handsome little name, with a certain ring to it that she thought was... right, in an odd sort of way. She looked out the window, at the Ghost zipping around in random patterns as he tried to amuse himself. Her Ghost, who put up with her despite her muteness.

He was just about the only one, now, who treated her like she was normal. The evaluators, the doctors, the shrinks, all scoffed and fussed, and kept going on and on about how she couldn't be a Guardian unless she started speaking. With her voice.

"I have a voice. This is it." she had told them, kept telling them. They never listened, because they couldn't hear her. They could see her words, they could hear her Ghost translating for her, but they couldn't hear her. Her. And she couldn't prove them wrong, because they would never give her the chance. Ever.

She was certain of it.

But her Ghost was different. He had accepted what she was, who she was. He never complained(now, at least), and not once had he made a sharp comment about her problem. He knew her. It was crazy; she hadn't been around for even two months, and already, he knew her very well. It meant so much to her, that he was there for her, even when she woke screaming in the night, even when shut down in terror or nerves. And she hadn't even named him. He never complained about that, either, even though most Guardians had named their Ghosts at least within the first week.

And it was at that moment that she knew why the name she had read in the book appealed so much to her, why it sounded right. It was because she had something to do. She had a meaning to assign, and now a word to voice that meaning. And meaning, she would give it. Her Ghost had given her so much meaning in so little time, once, just this once, she could-no, had-to give him something meaningful back, in a way that he knew she was grateful, for every moment, for every drop of this second chance, that he had earned her trust undying.

She marked her page in the book, and set it down next to her. Her Ghost stopped for a small moment to see what she was doing, and she met his gaze intensely. He froze, shell clicking and twisting slightly in confusion at the look in her eyes. He hovered down a little closer to her concerned, and she held out her hand, offering her palm for him to land on.

"P-ad...fo'ot."He froze as she spoke. Her voice was broken, slurred slightly, destroyed by many years of disuse. Her voice, a voice that had not been carried on the winds for so long, took great pain to produce, was shattered beyond belief.

And yet it was the most wonderful, magical sound he'd ever heard.

"Wh-what?" he whispered, shocked. Sierra, his mute Sierra, had spoken.

"P-adfoot." she repeated with great difficulty, as he floated slowly to her offered hand, while the other pointed at him. His mute Sierra had spoken a title. A name.

"That's... me?" he asked, voice choked with emotion. It was times like these where he could relate to the Exos, unable to shed a single tear, happy or sad those tears may be. She nodded in confirmation.

His name. All his. And it was the most beautiful sound in the world.

FEELZ!

And here we have little Padfoot getting his name!^^

Sierra was without a doubt the most popular new regular edition to the Dysfunctional crew, and it was fun to write this little piece with her and Padfoot's backstory. I'm making progress with the first chapter of 15 Seconds: Part 2, but don't expect it to come any time soon like with previous releases. It might take a while, I'm going through a creative slump. Hopefully I'll get that fixed soon.

In the meantime, go check out my latest plot bunny! A creepy Mass Effect/Destiny crossover starring SIVA!

To the rioting/aggrieved liberals and democrats: "Don't worry, be happy! Eat waffles!"

Cheers!^^