Forever Intertwined, Forever Bound, Forever Mine.

Nature, in all its glory, had this unassuming tradition of not following the rules of man. This girl came like nature, storming out of the sky, stomping into his life without warning. And, like a moth to a flame, he was drawn to her. She was a stranger, and yet at the same time she was not, and Max was inexplicably, frighteningly, and uncontrollably captivated by her. And he still didn't know why. Why was he so attracted to her? The fact that she was one of them was not explanation enough.

But when Max saw her convulsing next to her dupe, saw her life slipping from her and reached out heal her, he had his answer and it came in the form of bright and beautiful gold thread.

A very familiar gold thread.

Flashback

Max is seven years old. It's his and Isabel's first ever birthday party. Their adoptive parents had thrown it for them. He had a name now. He was Max Evans and he was happy. He loved his mom and dad and sister Isabel, but something was missing.

He still had the feeling that he lost something, he just didn't know what. He had thought that now he had a family, a mom and dad, the feeling would go away. It didn't.

Still today is the happiest he and Isabel have ever been.

Suddenly, something changes. He can feel things he has never felt before. The sensation is both familiar and foreign. He is almost sure he has felt it before, but he just can't remember where or when. He can't think clearly as fear, pain, and anger bubble up inside his chest. The emotions are choking him they are so strong and they explode inside his brain.

Underneath all these emotions he feels sadness, a bone crushing sorrow that starts to eat away at his very soul.He suddenly feels a desperate need welling up inside to make it better, to make the sadness go away.Mixed up through all these feelings is a yearning, maybe a hope in him that is echoed from both sides. He could not explain it even if he tried.

Max is not sure where these emotions are coming from, but he knows that they are real. He knows that for some reason, there is kind of a coppery taste in the back of his throat. And it does not belong to him.

He does not have time to really think about what is happening because in the next second he can feel an an anger so strong it wipes everything else out. He knew that hatred and denial were driving this overwhelming rage. Max has never felt hatred like this before, has never had a reason too. And in this moment, he has never been more frightened.

He can feel his face twisting itself into an unfamiliar expression of grief and fury. He can hear his mom and dad near him. Max is on the floor, how did he get in the floor? Isabel is gripping his hand in her tiny one, asking him what is wrong. Suddenly the image before him distorts like a bad TV reception, the image that reforms however is not of his family.

Suddenly he feels ice cold.

Surrounding him are four walls of what appears to be some sort of cell. Max can't see much and doesn't seem to be in control of his body. He realizes instantly, with absolute horror that it's because his arms are pinned at the wrist and elbow, along the knees and chest. The small steel room reminded Max of a large seamless refrigerator. The walls were made of steel instead of the more typical aluminum though.

Max looked up and saw someone wearing a mask. The eyes behind it were cold and clinical. The person bent down and injected him with something. Once finished, the masked figure turns towards the shadowy corner of the room.

"Sir, she's awake now"

She? Was the other, the one who's emotions he is feeling a girl? He looks down at his bound wrists and Max suddenly realizes they aren't right.They are delicate and small- smaller than Isabel's even.They weren't his own.

"How's our little Popsicle doing?" a voice responded unexpectedly.

"She's still defient and angry. It's going to take another few hours for her to be manageable, Sir."

Max's head is whirling around in the direction of the voice and is confronted by a shadow. A shadow that for some reason is making his insides quiver in a way he didn't understand.It's an instinctive,bile raising fear he has never experienced before and Max knows the fear is his own, because there is no echo to the emotion this time.

The face he could barely make out in the darkness isn't a face that catches a person's attention.All the features were just average, being both colorless and nondescript.Despite that, it had the power to cause a chill to shootlightning fast down his spine. This is a face that knows too much, sees too much and could do too much.It is the face of a tyrant.It has a mantle of cruelty and deviousness that Max has never seen or felt before. It is scarring him in a way he has never been scared before in his short life.

A blinding pain burns through him as his eyes meet the glowing gaze of the shadow, and he has to squeeze his eyes shut and he feels a scream rise to his throat.

Then the link slams shut, just as suddenly and unexpectedly as it had formed, it is gone in an instant. It is replaced with the dull throb of pain that he feels at times when he wakes up from dreams he can never remember, only much more terrifying. Max is only seven years old, but he understands things better than a child his age should. He knows that the things he and his sister can do are not normal, that they are not normal. He even knows that their parents, who clearly love them, would be afraid of them should they ever find out.

It is much later after everyone has gone home, after his mom and dad tucked him into bed and Max has assured them that he is fine, that he sees the bedroom door open and his sister comes in and sits on the bed.

"Max... Are you awake?" Isabel whispers, breaking the silence.

"Yes, I'm awake Izzy" He lifts himself so that he is sitting.Seeing his sister's worried face Max reaches out and grips her hand in his in reassurance. "I'm fine, I'm ok now."

"What happened?"

"I don't know Isabel," he whispered. "It was strange; it was like I was someone else, like I was somewhere else.One moment I was here, then not and then I was angry, so, so angry and I didn't know why.The feelings that swarmed me came one on top of the other. It was like there was an emotional echo inside me, like I were actually two people instead of one.Remember right after we were adopted and we were playing in the back yard and you got hurt? I felt your pain, Izzy. It was like that, only stronger."

"Do you know who it was? The other- the one you felt."

"No. All I know is that, whoever it is, it's a girl and she's in trouble.There is a bad man holding her in a cage, hurting her." He pauses for a moment before blurting out what was on his mind."Do you think she's connected to us?That she's like us? Isabel, do you remember there being anyone else when we woke up? I can't remember much for some reason? I remember another boy with us, he didn't come with us when mom and dad found us, but I don't remember a girl. Do you remember there being anyone else there?"

Max looks at his sister who remains strangely silent for moment to long before she whispers "No." Max can't read the look on her face, and she refuses to meet his eye as she wishes him goodnight, leaving his room without looking back.

Max can't help feeling that his sister is hiding something from him.

When Max finally falls asleep, he dreams and in his dreams he is standing on an endless cloud bank, feeling virtually weightless. He is confused but not afraid. Suddenly out of the endless fog appears the shape of a man. He moves towards Max until all his feature are clear.

He is tall, has dark hair like his own, with eyes the color of gold and he wears a solemn expression and some form of armor. It reminds Max of a story his mom had read to him about a King and his knights of the round table. There is something very commanding and familiar about his presence. He stops right in front of Max, his eyes are solemn, yet hopeful, as he points right at Max's chest with his finger.

Instinctively Max looks down and is shocked by what he finds there. A thin, almost feeble golden thread that extends from the very center of his heart and goes out into the vastness of the cloud bank. It is so small and fragile that Max can't help thinking that with a single tug he would be able to destroy it entirely.

Max looks back up at the man beside him questioningly. But he's not looking at Max, he's looking at the thread with absolute adoration and with such wistful longing, that Max can almost feel the man's pain just as the man simply vanishes into thin air.

Max lowers his head to look at the golden thread and is unable to help himself. He reaches out and touches it, making sure to keep the pressure light as a breeze so he doesn't accidentally break it. The connection is immediate. Impressions of another place rush upon him in that moment, just like before only not as strong. Once again he felt as if he were two people, existing in the same time but in different places.

There is Max, his true self, the form he had been born into, and there is The Other.

There is a sudden, inexplicable desire in him to be closer to The Other, to feel more. Going on instinct alone Max delves deeper, pushing his essence further across the thread. He finds that he can't go very far. He is blocked for some reason. Then he realizes that the bond is not strong enough. It is far too frail at the moment, as if it is weak from pain. It contains just enough strength for Max to feel that The Other is a being filled with sorrow and distress, whose very essence seems to call out to him.

The misery he feels within her, her barely restrained rage, was something he desperately wished to stop and not just because of what had happened earlier, but also because, for some reason, he didn't like the idea of The Other being in pain. It made him feel things he could not explain.

More importantly, if the earlier episode was repeated his parents would start to wonder. They might even insist on taking him to the doctor for a check-up. Max could not let that happen. They would find out he was different, everybody would. In order for him to maintain control he could not let incidents like that happen all the time. Desperate, he tries to impress that upon The Other but he doesn't know if he is successful.

Max blinks in the low light of his room when he wakes up, flashes from last night's dream run though his mind. His first thought is to go to Isabel and tell her everything, but something stops him. He knows he shouldn't keep something like this a secret. Yet something in him seems to rebel at the thought of telling someone else his discoveries. The Other is a secret that he will hold close to him, something that he would keep to himself.

His sister would not want him to pursue it. She perceives everything outside of the two of them to be a threat, with the exception of their parents. And Max? Max doesn't know what he wants. The Other makes him feel whole complete in a way Max has never felt before, but it also frightens him. Not only because it isn't normal, but also because of the shadow figure with The Other. Whoever, or whatever the shadow is, he is dangerous. If he finds Max though his link to The Other, the shadow can come here. He can try and hurt Max and his family like he is hurting the other. Max can not allow that. He is just going to have to wait and see if this happens again before he decides whether to embrace or reject the connection to The Other.

He will do what is best for his family.

It is just over a year before Max gets another startlingly clear reading from The Other. That is not to say that Max thinks for one second that the link to the other has broken, for he still (found)finds himself in the fog bank in his dreams almost every night.

He is always fascinated, almost breathless even, as with every dream the thread thickens and strengthens. He is unable to restrain himself because every time he touches the link and feels the small trace of sadness. He has begun to whisper reassurance to The Other, sending waves of serenity and peace to counter the chaos. Over time Max even begins speaking about different things, about his day and his family, his own fears. About things that he would never admit out loud to another being not even his sister.

He is in his room when it hits him and in his surprise he cannot stop the low, almost keening whine that escapes his lips though he does cut it off quickly so he does not wake up his parents or sister.

It is a sharp piercing pain, similar to the pain from the first contact but harder, more brutal and it is mixed with an anguish that knocks the wind out of feels as if he is drowning, a heavy pressure is on his chest, cold hands are grabbing at him harshly. A metal sharpness cuts into his skin, but looking down at the places the pain is coming from he finds he is physically unharmed and alone.

Not able to stop himself Max sinks to his knees, curls his arms around himself and begins to rock on the floor.

He can feel his own heartbeat changing and he knows somehow that it is attempting to synchronize itself with The Other's. He can taste the cold terror in his throat, the barely suppressed tears.

He does not know what is going on, does not understand what is happening but he knows that it is bad.

Then it changes. In that split second it changes in a way that Max finds familiar from his first episode with the other.

Max feels peace.

Peace filters through their connection, a type of peace that Max knows The Other has never felt. It is calm and fluid and terrible. Max doesn't remember the The Other having ever felt peace.Anger, rage, pain, and sorrow yes, but never peace and to feel it now sends him into a frantic panic. The realization of what is happening hits him like a speeding train, an unexpected storm, like lightning and ice, burning him and freezing him at the same time.

That peace, that terrible, wonderful peace The Other is feeling is death. The other is dying!

He knows it, can feel it in the depths of his soul. The gold thread that connects them seems to dim and almost fade completely.

Max can feel The Other's heartbeat start to slow, becoming fewer and fewer with every passing second. Dread the likes of which Max has never known consumes him when he realises that The Other has no intention of fighting, that the other intends to let herself die.

Max cannot allow this. He can't let The Other die, he just, can't!

He doesn't know how he does it, but Max finds himself in his mind, in the fog bank that he sees only in his dreams, instantly grabbing a hold of the golden thread and slamming with all of his strength some of his healing power into the bond, and screams at The Other with everything he had in him.

"No! You Can't Die! Fight!"

He knows that The Other hears him and he can actually feel the heart that had come close to stilling forever, suddenly pump vigorously with life. He can also feel the shock and suprise that zooms through The Other as his words race across the thread between them.

He feels the moment The Other pulls back from death and re-embraces life and survival.

The sheer happiness that Max feels in that moment is all his own, he knows it is because it is not doubled, there is no echo within him and it's intesity startles him.

He stays that way for hours, until the dark night sky starts to get lighter and the sun begins to rise, shining brightly on the morning blue sky.

Slowly, but no less painfully, the physical connection is beginning to dull and the mental one is absorbing his excess strength. Then finally, the phantom knives that are cutting into his skin and the blows raining down upon his mind also stop.

It hits him at that moment just how unnatural this connection is.

He wants it and wishes to keep it, but for the first time he truly admits to himself that perhaps it is not a good idea.

Once he was able to move to unclench himself from the fetal position, Max makes a heart wrenching decision. It twists his insides and bile was rising in his throat. He would no longer acknowledge the connection with The Other, no longer touch the golden thread in his dreams, he would block it out. A part of him protested the decision. He refused to give into that side, refused because this wasn't normal. This was more than he could handle. This was dangerous to him, both physically and mentally.

It was for the best.

Another year is passing and Max turns 9. It is both easy and difficult to ignore the thread that is still haunting his dreams. Max is in third grade, and it is the third and final time the connection between him and The Other flares to life again.

All through the last year Max has been firm in his decision and not been speaking to The Other in his dreams. He's dulling the thread to The Other. It is taking him time and effort to do so, more than he wanted to admit to himself.

He is addicted to The Other and is forced to wean himself off gradually.

He is able now to resist the urge to make contact with The Other, although he does find it very hard at times to keep away.

Half of himself complained to him constantly until he had learned to lock it in the back of his mind as well.

The thread is still there, he can still see it in his dreams sometimes, though not as often as he used to. Only when he is feeling particularly alone does it appear. It is a pale, ghostly wisp of a thing now, no longer the vibrant gold or beautiful pale yellow of before.

He has neglected it to the point where it is listless and even more fragile than it had been in the beginning.

As always, that same half of him longed to feed it again, to nurture it until it once again glowed strong and as rich as it once had.

He resisted as he always did now. The Other is his ultimate flaw no matter what that unknowable and unpacified half of him screams in the depths of his mind, he knows The Other is his only obstacle to a normal life.

The Other, after a few months had passed, had become silent in return. Max now barley has a sense of her let alone her emotions.

So Max is unprepared when suddenly he feels the connection flare to life, feels the pale and ghostly thread burst back into full color, the gold a mixture of red, orange and yellow. Like the sun, it is blindingly beautiful.

The Other is the same as she had been in the past and yet different. There is a sense of grim determination that is familiar and yet it is more real somehow, more apparent than ever before. The helplessness is familiar as well but it is soul deep this time, a gnawing biting thing that for just a moment makes Max freeze.

The rage this time is consuming. It fills every inch of him.

It's always been there, always just beneath the surface, but now it was out in full force, a thunderous, murderous thing that longed for blood and destruction. It was a rage that told Max that The Other was about to kill.

Image after image is flashing before Max eyes. A gun shot, a fallen figure, blood pooling in snow, in the direction of small bare feet surrounded by guns.

Horrified by it all, Max grabs the thread once again for the first time in a year, the gold, orange and crimson color still blinding, still beautiful and forces his voice across it and into The Other in an effort to calm that all-consuming rage.

"NO! DON'T!"

There is a moment of silence on the other end of the thread; Max can tell he has shocked The Other. There is a whirlwind of activity that sounds like thousands of birds in flight. Then something happens that shocks him to his core. Where the thread would glow brightly with joy in response to his presence, it is now transformed into a scorching furious red, emanating despair and betrayal. Before his very eyes everything changes, all color leaves the thread, it becomes translucent, like water in a very thin plastic tube. Everything begins to dim and disappear. The bright fog bank begins to turn darker and darker until pitch black surrounds Max. He can't see the thread, can't see anything, can't feel The Other at all now.

Despair grips him.

Max reaches out into the blinding darkness, trying hopelessly to grasp the thread, but he can't see anything, can't see the thread, can't see his hands. All there is is an all-encompassing silence.

It is unlike any silence he has ever experienced before. Max wants to cry, to scream and rip himself apart with what he is feeling.

The Other is gone. That half of himself that is always tormenting him is absent as well. Never before has Max felt as if he has more control over himself, has never felt more normal. And yet… yet there is a bitter hollowness inside, a yawning gap that is as dark and empty as the blackness that surrounds the fog bank now.It begs to be filled.

He had abandoned the other in her time of need and in return the Other has chosen to free him. Max knows he will never feel the connection with The Other again.

End of Flashback

And he hadn't.

Until now, while healing the blonde angelic looking beauty by the name of Christephine Hale.