Disclaimer: Sadly, I do not own any of these characters. These belong to Nalini Singh, writer of the Psy-Changeling series.

Note: Thanks to Zhian'tara for helping with his story. She helps me brainstorm, edits each chapter and helps me get all the information correctly. Thank you Denise!

Chapter 14. Honesty

Anthony Kyriakus

Anthony had woken up one hour before the usual, eating a quick nutrition bar and drinking a cup of tea. He nodded at all the right times when Leon attempted to engage him in conversation, his mind elsewhere. If Nikita kept her agreement, he would have her alone and in a room outside of work or politics.

She arrived at Anthony's house with a small travel bag and a stern expression on her face. He watched her march up to the entrance, her hair shining in the early spring sun, a curtain around her heart shaped face. She walked with confidence, tall, slender, and self-assured. Nikita seemed to command every space she occupied. He could have stared at her the whole day.

"Anthony," she said. "I will not tolerate any touching." He didn't bother pointing out her emotional statement as she walked past him.

The two found themselves at the poolside few minutes later. Nikita had changed into a red swimsuit; her legs were long and slender. Aside from giving a headache, the no touching rule also frustrated him.

"I had the water warmed up," he said, when she hesitated. The room and pool were wide, surrounded by one glass wall that led to a jungle of foliage, blocking the view. The facility was also surrounded by a large fence and guards through the outside. The other three walls were painted in light shades of blue to complement the decorated pool floor. The design was meant to imitate a natural pool.

"Watch me," he said, one hand on the wall, the other stretched out in front of him as if he was about to jump. She mimicked his actions, placing her legs against the wall, stretching out her left arm. The moment he let go, he was gliding and swimming away. The water felt good against his skin. He stopped and turned back to look.

Nikita took a deep breath and let go of the wall. She was sliding across the water to him. He caught her on the other side when her glide lost power.

"Didn't I tell you not to touch?" She asked, never looking at him.

"Do you want to drown?"

They repeated the exercise until she had the basics of gliding. He continued to catch her at the end for every chance. It was a challenge to his conditioning. The sharp stings of pain became less powerful every time he touched her shoulders or held her up.

"How is this supposed to help me clear my mind?" It was almost a snapped a moment later. If he had grown with emotion, he would have chuckled.

"I think you have the basis of gliding." She jerked away from him, finding her footing. "Do you want to try kicking next?"

"I thought you were the instructor." She crossed her arms over her chest and walked slowly back to the wall. "You should know what you're doing." He wanted to be angry with her, but he wasn't quite used to the feeling. Anger was reserved for specific people, not Nikita. The only negative emotion she ever evoked was frustration. He could feel the bite of it. And he felt like kissing her or biting, maybe both things at the same time.

Anthony stopped in his tracks, letting the primitive drive overwhelm him. In his mind's eye, he saw an image of himself, his lips on hers, bodies close. "I'm a masochist."

Nikita blinked up at him. "What was that? Was that you?"

"Did you hear something?"

"No," she said, pausing. "This isn't working."

"Let's try something else."

Nikita Duncan

He instructed her to close her eyes and loosen up her muscles. She had failed at her first few attempts, but Nikita wasn't about to let him see her give up. Nikita laid back and willed her body to rest. She was floating, and the voices finally came.

"Mommy? Where's my mom? I want to go home." It was a child's cry this time, one of those whispers rising from the others. She could hear the quiet sobs of a child.

"Nikita," Anthony's voice in the physical plane. He clasped his hands on hers, anchoring her back. This time she saw the image. The boy was probably about five or six. He was tied to the head of a bed in a dark and dingy basement. The boy's eyes were ringed red and puffy, clothes dirty and sprayed with vomit. Flies settled on his skin as he cried, a thumb in his mouth.

The thing that rose up to her chest was foreign but powerful. She lost her breath and the ability to move her body.

"Concentrate," she heard Anthony's voice in her head. He sounded angry. She tried again, tried not to withdraw. She made out the distant sound of a train, streets nearby.

"Where are you?" She whispered to the child, but he couldn't hear anything. The thing, the feeling in her chest seemed to explode.

Nikita opened her eyes to find herself standing in the shallow section of the pool. She was clasping Anthony's hands so tight that her knuckles were white. And she felt like cutting someone's throat.

"We need to find him." It was almost a growl. She released his hands, hurrying out of the water. "We need to be outside," she said, "anywhere near a train."

She was already thinking about all the places to scout. The trains near the beaches and the cargo trains of the miners. What if the child wasn't even in Los Angeles? Anthony tugged on her arm. She pulled away, forgetting about the fact that he was touching her. "Where are my clothes?"

"I know an Arrow who can help."

-RS-

They changed quickly, preparing for the briefing that would surely come. The minutes dragged. Nikita paced the room in which they had moved into trying to find the connection to the child once again. The link had broken and she couldn't find it.

Vasic appeared before them a few minutes later. If the Arrow was surprised to find Nikita with Anthony, he didn't show it.

"I secured the child," he said, provided them with the name and age of the child, as well as the name of the hospital where he took him. Nikita called Max to give him the information.

"You need to find his parents," she demanded into the receiver, her voice higher than usual. The detective called her back two hours later asking for an explanation.

"The boy says he was taken from his backyard by a wanted pedophile earlier this month." The detective words were firm and bursting with anger. "He's happy to be back with his mother and the doctors predict a slow mental recovery."

Nikita's hands tingled, the desire to break something powering through her body. The thing in her chest, it was too much to control, too strong for someone that lived her life without emotions to handle. A quick look at her shields forced her to stop. There was color where there was nothing before, a bright blue light that didn't have any explanation.

She withdrew into herself, taking the time to build shields around it. If the light hit the outside, the other shields, she could only guess at the consequences.

"Why don't you sit, Nikita?"

Nikita found a comfortable spot on the small sofa in his study, a den with big windows and wooden floors where he kept an enormous collection of books. Anthony was holding up a glass of water the next time she opened her eyes.

"You did a good thing," he said, eyes contemplative. "You should embrace your gift."

"What about the others?" She asked her gaze fixed on the view of the garden outside. "He's only one of many of the voices."

"How often?"

"Most nights." Sometimes, the voices didn't let her sleep.

"Nightmares," he said.

"Psy don't dream," she replied, lifting herself up off the sofa and walking up to the window. She had changed into white loose fitting slacks and a black shirt, her feet bare. She wriggled her toes as she stood by the window, embracing the feeling of the wood under her feet. "These are real voices."

"This isn't new to you, is it?" he asked. "Did you hear the voices when you were a child?"

He ran his hand over the wood of his desk, his expression pensive. A few seconds passed before she gave him an answer, "Yes."

"Silence, the conditioning," he concluded, "stopped the voices."

"Yes."

Anthony Kyriakus

Suddenly, something inside him clicked. It was like finding another piece of the big puzzle that was Nikita Duncan. Now, her actions made sense. He thought about her choices.

As a child, Nikita would have found herself powerless to do anything. The ruling Council would have rehabilitated her to the point of nonexistence. She either lived haunted by the voices or allowed them to kill her. So, she withdrew. Nikita became so Silent, buried herself so deep, that the voices had subsided, drowned by a shell of emptiness.

She was also protecting her child. A child who didn't know the secrets hidden within Silence. A child who's emotional nature would have crumbled at seeing and feeling her mother's pain, the pain of the world that filtered through her shields.

"You are not young and vulnerable anymore," he said, pointing out the obvious. "Nikita."

He had shortened the distance between them, his hand hovering over her shoulder, unsure. She turned on her heels. He slowly and gently touched her face; his thumb traced the tip of her nose.

"You have a nosebleed." She pressed her fingertips to the blood.

Nikita Duncan

"Conditioning," she explained. "I'm breaking conditioning."

Nikita stared at her blood-tainted hands. Anthony rushed out and came back in with a wet towel. He surprised her by taking her hands and gently cleaning the blood from her fingers. It was such a tender care, a completely new feeling. And filled her with fear.

"I can do that," she said, snatching the cloth from his hands to clean her nose. "Is this going to continue happening?"

"I asked for Leon's professional opinion," he said. "He's reaching out to Faith, Sascha, Walker Lauren, and Kaleb as we speak."

"Lauren?"

"He's assisting us in the care of a group of Arrows." It made sense. The NightStar PsyClan facility specialized in damaged minds. The Arrows must have reached out to Anthony for the care of their own. In turn, Anthony had access to some of their best, like Vasic.

"Come," he said, opening a small door squeezed between an overfilled bookcase under the slanted ceiling of the attic that was his study.

"This is your hideout?" She asked, uncertain why she asked the question.

"Yes." The small door opened to a spiral staircase. "I had it made when I took charge of the PsyClan business."

"Why?"

"I had become the center of something crucial to the functions of the world and all eyes were turned on me. This is my space, no one to watch or care about what I do or don't."

"Why did you bring me here then?"

"I thought it was appropriate." They made it the base of the stairs and out into the beauty of the garden outside. He had all sorts of flowers in this garden. Most of them were just bulbs, but she knew that the place would explode with color when they bloomed.

"I come here to meditate," he said, sitting on a wooden bench under a large oak tree. He patted the spot next to him.

She hesitated. "This is where you come to bury your feelings."

He looked away, something flickering in his eyes. Nikita wanted to bury her feelings too. Let all be taken by the wind. She needed to be strong if she wanted to survive long enough to ensure that the lives of her daughter and grandchild were safe.

Anthony made her feel safe, she realized. The knowing blinding her vision. Today, he had seen her at her worst, and he didn't judge. He had seen the most vulnerable parts of her that brought shame and anger. And he shared this space, his safe space away from the rules of the Net for her to enjoy.

Anthony Kyriakus

He was acting by impulse, sharing his secrets with a woman he should distrust.

He should call himself a masochist. He was putting a lot on the line in attempting to have what he didn't deserve. Anthony watched her, under the bulbs of bright cherry blossoms, to find her face serene. She shut her eyes, taking those deep breaths she thought went unnoticed. It was an attempt to lower her heart rate, to avoid a breakdown.

"Nikita," he said gently, not looking at her face. He wanted to tell her the truth of his intentions.

"Umm?" She had relaxed out here, her stiff shoulders loosening.

"Do you think that you could ever have what they have?" He asked, "Krychek and Sahara. The changelings."

"No." It was a quick and definite answer. He felt her heated gaze on him. He looked up, trying to find the courage to tell her the truth.

"I want to have that," he said. "If not a bond, then something close." He wanted someone he could call his own.

"What would be the purpose of such engagement?" Did she sound angry? She had stiffened up again, her shoulders rising.

"What is the purpose of doing anything?" He shook his head. Nikita tilted her head to the side, looking thoughtful. "We are the children of circumstance, but we make choices that can change our future. Kaleb and Sahara are a great example of it."

"You sound convinced that what they have is real." She stood up, lips tight.

"According to Faith," he said, following her eyes, "your daughter confirmed it."

The bond Sahara and Kaleb had created was visceral, and unbelievable. At first, he wanted to reach out to his niece, make sure that she was safe, and that Kaleb wasn't in fact playing another card. Sahara's power was unique and dangerous, coveted. It was thanks to Sahara's reassurance that he had stepped away.

He knew about bonds. It was all his elder generation had spoken about. People had disappeared, died for the bonds they were never again permitted to keep.

"I thought," he said, standing up to stand next to her, his breathing shallow. "Perhaps, we could try."

She didn't answer, letting her silence do all the talking. She blinked. The admission was unexpected, even to himself.

"I'm not the woman you want, Anthony," she said, her voice emotionless. She had retreated back to the coldness. "I am incapable of giving you what you desire. I should go, I've taken enough of your time."

She hurried back to the stairs, almost running up the steps. He thought over her words. The prompt rejection was a sting, but he didn't think their conversation was over.

-RS-

Thanks for reading.

Best,

Steph