She was insane.

Her mind was like a child's, vast and sprawling and straightforward. There were hidden passages and memories locked away and a disturbing amount of color. He called out for her, but her astral projection didn't come. Her mind was still recovering, then. Carefully examining the layout of her mind, he found nothing that suggested damage done to her psyche. It had reverted to its original form, yet other than that there was no damage. No nightmares, no manias, no waking dreams. Just a simple, child's mind riddled with secret passages, hidden hallways and tunnels. A complex child, then. Still, there was something wrong.

Almost all of her memories had been locked away. While he could access then - he had a degree in this field, after all - her access to them was utterly shut off. Huge chunks of her life would remain impossible for her to recall. When she woke up, she wouldn't remember him or the Academy or that she was psychic. She would wake up with her memories up until about age twelve. After that it would all go totally blank for her. Agent Nein debated with himself as to whether or not he could restore more of her memories. It would be risky. It might overload her system as it was now. In a few years, perhaps she would begin to remember things on her own. As it was, she had come out of this with a clean slate.

No memories. No personality left. No mental blocks or guards. She was just like a child. In browsing through her memories, he'd seen she'd always wanted to be a teacher. She'd given up on that idea when her psychic powers came to surface. But now they were locked away, and all she had left was telepathy. She could pass for normal now. Agent Nein idly thought the best thing for her was to pursue that dream. Certainly she couldn't stay here for any longer without someone realizing the truth. She would need the care of her family, though, to be able to function for the first few months as she adjusted to her mental state.

Her family - that was a problem he'd never considered before. They'd been told she was dead. How could he explain this to them? How could anyone ever hope to explain the process of what happened to non-psychics? He spent a long night with former Agent Cruller debating the issue, and they finally decided the best thing to do was to have Sasha present her to them as not dead, but insane. She'd certainly be acting to fit the part, without her memories and personality in tact. They would take it from there. No one would ever think to question him as to why they'd been lied to about her death. Psychonauts were not to be questioned, just obeyed. Agent Nein was well aware that it was possible the Agency might catch on, might find her out. It didn't matter. They couldn't do anything with an Agent who barely recaleld her name and had next to no powers. Whatever her new personality became, it would further convince them she wasn't Psychonaut material.

After all, technically, she was insane.

- -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - - -- -

It was another four years before he saw her again.

He paid for her college quietly, discreetly, transferring money into her account on a regular basis. Not jaw dropping amounts. Just enough to get her through. She graduated in three years flat, stunning everyone with the sheer knowledge she had that enabled her to finish so fast. Sasha was not in the least bit surprised. Fractured psyche or not, she'd always been brilliant. What surprised him was the person she had developed into from the shell of a woman he dropped off years ago. It was a slow process, as was to be expected. Given the trauma she'd been through, he would have expected a solemn woman similar to Agent Frizzle. Instead, he found someone different entirely.

She was vibrant and loud. She wore colorful clothes and strange earrings and jumped into things. Gone was the frown, the glare, the stare of an Agent. She laughed with her friends. She watched children's cartoons and discussed them with kids in a totally non-ironic manner. She had a pet lizard. She was unafraid of taking chances. All traces of an analytical Psychonaut were gone, replaced by this childlike woman who played in the rain and talked with animated gestures. She treated the students in her class with utmost respect, and more than that she loved them. She cherished them. She loved life. There was no trace, not even the faintest, of who she'd been when he met her.

He felt a bit choked up at the sight. She was going to be okay. Everyone had thought she was going to die in the line of fire, and here she was doing her dream job in her hometown. A sense of relief flooded over him. How many nights had he spent lying awake, desperately wondering if he'd done something wrong and she wasn't going to make it? How many times had he had to resist coming over here in person to check? But it was all for not. She was fine. She was better than fine, actually, she was thriving here. She had friends, family, and students. He was no longer needed... And he wouldn't have it any other way.

The four years of fearing for her sanity were over at last.

- -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - - -- -

He knew he was bordering on being a stalker.

He also knew she wasn't quite right. She wasn't aging properly or getting any fatter. The psitanium had removed both capabilities from her, which meant certain foods high in fat would be near toxic to her. He knew she had been a last second rescue, the miracle science experiment. He hadn't been fully equipped to help her. She was extremely lucky to be alive. She hadn't escaped unscathed, though. There were consequences to his actions, and her life weighed upon his mind. This was his fault, his responsibility. If anything happened to her, it was on his head. The thought of her dying because of his bad science was enough to terrify him.

All his life, he had been a scientific person. He liked technical manuals and textbooks and classes that involved labs. He relied upon body language science classes to tell him how people felt. Mental mapping science told him what he was feeling. He believed in science like other people believed in God. Now he was faced with the flip side, that science had only come so far. He was a fool. He never should have acted so hastily. In his guilt, he started sending her money again, not caring if it was enough to raise her eyebrows. No matter what he did, he was nothing more than a shadow to her. She'd never be aware of him. His own science had programmed her to be that way.

Every so often, he would use his clairvoyance to check in on her, to see what she was doing. She really was much better off without him. Yet he couldn't be a good Psychonaut and move on with his new partner. He couldn't just trust in Agent Milla Vodello like he had Agent Frizzle. He couldn't build up the familiarity with the second he'd had with the first. Then again, Milla was perfectly healthy. Ms. Frizzle was a walking time bomb of unknowns.

Maybe it wasn't stalking, come to think of it.

It was guarding.

- -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - - -- -

Denial was a wonderful thing.

He was so drunk, so drunk he was amazed he hadn't passed out. Agent Vodello was tugging on his arm, smiling gently, trying to get him to leave the bar. But he was in no mood for it tonight. Tonight he wasn't his usual happy drunk self. He was vividly depressed, more than he'd ever been in his life. The implications of what he'd done had hit him. He'd never see Agent Frizzle again. He'd never hear her call him a drunk or tell him he'd messed up his paperwork again. And he sobbed, for the first time since he was four. Agent Vodello hugged him, not understanding what he meant, thinking Frizzle was dead, just like everyone else did.

At this point he could've admitted maybe his partner had always meant something more to him. He could've admitted that Agent Frizzle had been a joy to work beside because she was the only one smart enough to get him. He could have admitted her looked at her smooth white skin and soft ginger hair in a way that was distinctly not Agency approved. He could've admitted he saw Agent Vodello the same way after a few years, that he was awful at adhering to regulations regarding co-workers. He could have. He didn't. Agent Frizzle was gone now, replaced by a woman who didn't know he existed and was infinitely more happy that way. Agent Vodello was spoken for. He was a failure.

So he washed down all his problems until Milla Vodello finally knocked him out for his own good and drove him home. In the morning he would smoke a few cigarettes, drink a shot before work, and pointedly pretend the whole thing hadn't happened. She would ask him how his night was and he would pretend that he was fine. Across the country, Ms. Frizzle would go to class and teach while trying to firmly pretend that she was fine and missing most of her memories didn't matter. He would come home from work and work his way through a six pack of beer. Agent Vodello would tell everyone he was fine. Ms. Frizzle would grade papers and watch cartoons. The world wasn't allowed to see the cracks in the surface. They were all fine. Never better. They were okay.

And they were all in deep denial.