Something good and beautiful (Part 1)

Summary

In which Wolfgang sees more of Whispers' past, and Kala comes clean to Rajan.

"You have something good and beautiful hidden inside of you. Just as I have something dark and wicked inside me."

— From S2E1, "Happy F*cking New Year"

TW for depictions of abuse.

A/N: A reminder: there exists a charity fanfiction collection, "A Candle for the Caribbean", which includes one awesome Sense8 post-canon fic by Savay (fiftyeightminutes on tumblr). Donate to help the victims of Hurricane Maria, and get your e-copy. Lots of great fics from many fandoms. For more info, check out loveinpanem's blog on tumblr.

July 31, 2017

"Do congratulate Mr Gorski on his engagement, Wolfgang."

In the brief minute it took for Wolfgang's Blocker to wear off this morning, he must have forgotten to clear his mind to shield it against the likes of Whispers. Wolfgang suppressed the urge to kick himself. He kept his expression blank. Slowly, he turned around to face the Headhunter. He hadn't interacted face-to-face with Whispers since his torture, and he was pleasantly surprised to see dark rings around the older man's bloodshot eyes.

His cluster would be pleased to hear Whispers was looking worse for wear. Though he was surprised the Headhunter was reaching out. He was usually so meticulous with his Blockers, fucking coward that he was. It could just be one of his tricks. Or it could be bad news. The last time he did that was with Will, when he showed him the execution -

Wolfgang's consciousness shifted from the bedroom he shared with Kala to wherever Whispers might be.

White walls, white marble tiles, the beeping of a heart monitor. This wasn't the bedroom he shared with Kala. He saw himself perched on a stool next to Whispers, who stared ahead, his thin lips curled into a sneer. Wolfgang followed Whispers' gaze to see what made the man so ecstatic, he'd drawn Wolfgang to him.

And his eyes landed on the unconscious form of Jonas, slumped and bound against the reclining chair.

Fuck.

"I'm certain Jonas will be willing to cooperate when he comes to."

Wolfgang scoffed. "You sure about that?"

"My colleagues and I have developed a new means of coercion. I'm sure you're familiar with the Reciphorum, our latest invention," said Whispers. "I would expect Mrs Rasal to have discovered the exact ingredients by now."

Whispers was bringing up Kala's name to get a rise out of him. And, against Wolfgang's better judgement, it was working. In an attempt to clear his mind of the memory of Kala and Sun leaving on a train to Lyon, he focused his gaze on Jonas, the fucking traitor who'd kept secrets from them without consulting their judgement. Jonas thought he knew best. Wolfgang always hated this self-entitlement.

Wolfgang heard a dull throbbing in his mind, like a too-strong heartbeat after he'd exerted himself running from cops after a robbery, Felix alternating between wheezing and swearing beside him. He pushed the image of his friend out of his mind and focused on the anger fists clenching.

They would've gotten to Whispers a long time ago if it weren't for Jonas. He wouldn't have been fucking captured. His cluster wouldn't have had to make all these sacrifices to save him and sacrifice their lives for a war they didn't sign up for.

The only time Jonas had helped at all was when he'd explained his deal with Veracity. Even then it was under the prompting of their then-mystery guest Mavis. Of course, there was the memory loop practice, and all those times Jonas talked about his past. About Angelica's past. About BPO's new murder weapons, like the Reciphorum.

But who knew if he was telling the truth then?

Fuck Jonas.

They wouldn't be safe once Jonas woke. He'd seen their interrogations. It'd broken him twice, and he was used to pain. That was, if Jonas tried to defy his interrogators at all — he could've easily turned them all over to save his own neck.

They'd have to relocate. But that could be easily arranged.

"Perhaps you could spare me the effort, Wolfgang," came Whispers' voice, too close to his ear. The man was learning over him now, his deadly gaze boring into Wolfgang.

The interrogation room was fading from view, the whites of the wall and the tiles turning into light gray, dark gray, black… Black. Without windows, the bedroom he shared with Kala was pitch black. Neither of them minded the darkness.

His hand reached for the bedside lamp, and Kala stirred beside him.

Jonas, he thought to himself, repeating it over and over until the mantra sunk in. Jonas did this. Whispers wouldn't have come to gloat if it weren't for him.

Traitor. Traitor. Fucking traitor.

This was the last time his cluster would have anything to do with Jonas.

Wolfgang detected a hint of something from the corner of his mind surrounded by ice, a souvenir of the times Whispers tried to break through his mind during an interrogation, the shards cutting deep, leaving permanent scars. There was the sound of ice crackling underneath the surface of Whispers' presence, like a deep-seated memory trying to burst through. Wolfgang focused on the crackling sound, which grew louder.

Whispers' breath hitched as Wolfgang's hands settled on the lamp switch per his command, but Wolfgang willed his consciousness away from his physical body, forcing his hand back. He closed his eyes and imagined his mind gravitating closer to the cold. With a raised fist he pummeled through the layer of ice, expecting the shards to cut his skin. In his bedroom, he punched the air, and his fist landed back on his lap. But back in the mind he shared with the Headhunter, his hand collided with hard surface, the frost sending tingles up his arm.

Gritting his teeth, he opened his eyes and found himself in the darkness surrounded by an ice wall. The part of the wall he punched was retracting under Whispers' command, trying to draw away from the invasion. He punched the ice again with a newfound fervor and imagined it was Whispers' face, and the ice was flesh and bone, capable of breaking. The crackling grew louder, and the sharp corners where the ice broke made small cuts on his knuckles, stinging his skin.

Which meant he had found an opening.

A manicured hand on Wolfgang's shoulder halted him in his tracks, trying to pull him back. He drew energy from his anger, anger at the Headhunter who dared to hurt his cluster, and he stayed gravitated on the spot. From the hole on the wall came the sound of a horse neighing, of hooves thumping against grass. And something else, another sound that gave him a pause until he remembered Whispers' hand on his shoulder.

A child's laughter.

The air from the other side of the ice wall felt warm. A faint smell of flowers Wolfgang couldn't name permeated through the warm breeze. Wolfgang closed his eyes again and willed his consciousness to float towards the memory. He wanted to stay. He had to.

Neville, stop! said the child, still laughing. Colors swarmed into view until the landscape unfolded before Wolfgang's eyes. The horse and its rider passed by in front of him — a boy saddled on a chestnut horse, galloping across the field. You're going too fast! Stop!

Milton! called a grown man's voice. It was stern, but something else about it made Wolfgang swallow hard, something malicious. Something familiar.

I said not to disturb me when I'm working. Milton! the man was bellowing now.

The memory shifted to a dimly lit study with boarded windows. The wind howled outside, but the middle-aged man paid it no mind. The man, fully dressed in a suit and tie, light brown hair neatly combed, stood from his desk and bore down at a slightly older Milton, who sat on the other side, his hand gripping a hardcover journal.

He slammed the journal on the desk, and Milton — and Wolfgang — flinched.

Is this how you spent your time? shouted the man. He opened the journal and tore out a couple pages, pages filled with childlike writing. Dawdling away like some idle fool?

Father, I was - Milton mumbled, barely audible as his father continued yelling. It's - I was -

Louder, demanded his father, walking past his desk to turn his chair around. He grabbed Milton by the collar and pulled him up so they were both standing, towering over his son. Wolfgang felt the young Milton cower under his relentless blue-eyed glare. Go on, then! Don't stand there mumbling like a bloody coward.

I-It's just writing! Milton said louder, his voice shaking.

No. His father shoved the rest of the journal back, pushing it against his chest. You were ungrateful. I've read it all - he grabbed the loose pages from where they sat on his desk and flung it in the air above his son. Complaining about me, were you? Complaining about Neeeville

The jeering tone of his father's voice made Milton's insides boil.

It triggered something in Wolfgang, too. A deep-buried loathing. Wolfgang curled his fist, and around him, the scene started fading. He felt a chill creep up his spine. (Enough now, Wolfgang, he heard Whispers say, his tone more irritated than worried.)

Wh-why'd you lock him up? asked Milton, his voice growing faint.

But the anger was unmistakable, a quiet rage suppressed by fear, not unlike the times Wolfgang glared back at his father's eyes during a beating and imagined himself hitting back twice as hard. He gritted his teeth and channeled the anger, feeling the unforgiving heat course through his veins. The chill faded from his mind.

Milton's father responded with a sneer.

You're keeping him prisoner! he shouted, mustering all his courage in an impulse.

I'm keeping him 'till the doctor can put him down!

You're a murderer!

That was his first mistake. His father lurched forward and grabbed him by the collar. Milton screamed. His father pushed until his back hit the side of a bookshelf in the study with a thump. Wolfgang felt the boy's pain. The pain that would grow into a bruise.

Insolent, growled his father. You do not talk to me like this. You -

Milton sniffled, clutching his journal tighter around his chest like an armor.

That was his second mistake. His father snatched the journal away and flung it back, and snickered when he heard a thud against the wall. He smeared Milton's tears away with a rough hand, then let go of his grip on Milton's collar and yanked him forward by his chin, fingers crushing the muscles on his neck.

Weak, he snarled. What did I say about crying?

You're k-killing Neville.

He's getting old. His father let go of his chin. Milton stumbled back, hitting the shelf again. I've no use for an old horse.

You're a murderer.

Wolfgang wanted to see where he was going, but he felt the chill coming back. The scene faded from view until he found his consciousness back in the interrogation room. Frowning, he concentrated on the thoughts Headhunter's mind. The memory was still fresh on Whispers' mind, but the rage had subsided, leaving only a faint echo of voices from a dead man, the emotions long forgotten.

"Ironic," said Wolfgang, looking between Whispers and Jonas.

When the Headhunter spoke again, his voice was lower, raspier. "Do elaborate."

Back in his bedroom, Wolfgang reached for the bottle of Blockers sitting on his nightstand and twisted the lid open. "You turned out just like him."

They met at a street corner cafe on the outskirts of Lyon. She'd arrived fifteen minutes early to find Rajan already waiting. As soon as their eyes met she felt a tightness in her chest. He seemed to have lost weight, and there were dark circles under his eyes. She wondered how much of his tiredness was from being worried about her.

When he saw her, he smiled and stood up from the booth he'd saved. To her relief he'd chosen a quiet spot at the back, somewhere she could talk without being overheard, her secrets muffled by the hustle and bustle of the late morning customers.

"You look pale, Kala. Are you okay?"

"I'm -" She opened her mouth to say she was fine, but she'd promised herself she wouldn't lie. "We should sit."

If he was surprised, he did well in hiding it. "Of course."

He slid back into his seat as Kala settled herself in the opposite chair, gripping the edge of the table to help herself sit. The cut at her side wasn't noticeably painful anymore — Miki was getting the stitches out tomorrow with instruction from the sensate doctor — but it still stung when she moved.

"Are you okay?" He asked, leaning forward. "Are you hurt? Did someone hurt you?"

For a second she wondered why he'd think that. But that wasn't why she was there. "It's fine, Rajan," she said instead. Just a bruise.

No, that would have been a lie.

"I'm fine," she repeated, offering a reassuring smile.

"If you're not -" he looked around, paranoid. It reminded Kala of what her cluster-mates did whenever they travelled to a new place, searching around for potential eavesdroppers. "If Paris isn't to your liking," he amended, "you can come home. We've arranged a new home."

"We?"

He nodded slowly, eyes wide.

"Oh." He and Agent Singh had most likely found another safe house for her to hide out, while he negotiated with the likes of Ajay. "You told me to trust you," she remembered. "Back home. You said I needed to go to Paris, for you. You said you'd explain later."

She didn't know why she was remembering this now, or why she suddenly wanted so much to know the truth behind his business when she intended to reveal hers.

"I don't know if this is the right place to tell," said Rajan.

"Never mind," she said, before she could find another reason to stall. "That's not why I wanted to - why we -" stalling isn't gonna make it any easier, she imagined Nomi saying, painfully aware of the silence inside her Blocked mind.

"Then what is it you wish to tell me?"

It was easier to show him, so she did, pulling out the files Nomi had printed the day before. She started with the factual and anatomical sides of her sensacity — the merged frontal lobes as a result of the rebirth, the migraines, synesthesia and hallucinations, and a company hunting down her kind to build an army. He listened, not saying a word. It wasn't until she'd started describing the nature of her connection with her cluster, something, for once, pure scientific terms couldn't justify, that she told Rajan about Wolfgang.

Kala told Rajan, clumsily, in-between near-inaudible rambles and stutters, she was seeing another man. And she was sort of — no, definitely — in love. With Wolfgang. Had been for a long time, even when she'd tried to convince herself her second thoughts on marrying Rajan were done. And Wolfgang was in love with her, too.

"It wasn't - I tried not to…" the staccato of her heart thumping rapidly in her chest marked out her punctuations. "…How do you avoid someone in your own head? How do you avoid loving someone that knows you as well as yourself?"

From the bobbing of his throat and the frown that sprung up as soon as the word "loving" had been uttered, she knew he'd heard everything.

He avoided her gaze, and said nothing.

"I never wanted to hurt you, Rajan."

Nothing.

For a long time he was silent, pouring over the brain scans, the personal files on some of the higher-up sapiens, even news articles covering the latest acts of terrorism around the world, the ones caused by the supposed "epigenetic mutation" proposed by a Dr Andreas Thorsten. She watched him open his mouth several times without making a sound, before he shook his head, pursing his lips again.

He lingered on the page with Veronika's biography longer than the others. Strange. There wasn't much information Nomi and Bug could pull up, only a date of birth, a nationality; an old school record or two. The Russian had hidden her records quite well. But then, she did explain this woman was the evil mastermind behind BPO.

Now was hardly the time to dwell.

Kala wanted to say she was sorry. That wouldn't have been a lie, but it wasn't the whole truth. She was sorry for breaking Rajan's heart; never for falling in love with Wolfgang.

"Does he make you happy?" he asked finally, voice shaking.

"He does."

He exhaled slowly, before looking up from the files in his hands. "I'm happy you're happy," he said. His eyes seemed to say, even if it's not with me.

"I haven't told my parents, but I will," she found herself confessing. Saying it made it harder to back out on the promise. Nomi could find a way to contact them. But now -

Her fingers tugged on the ring, slowly, taking in the sight of the silver band around her finger before taking it off. She dropped it in his outstretched palms, her finger accidentally brushing against his skin. Neither of them let the touch linger. He tucked the ring away in the pocket of his suit.

"The divorce will take some time," he said a little louder, eyes fixed on the salt and pepper shakers on the table. "A year, maybe. Or more. Probably more." The last part came out somewhat forcefully, like he was biting back a retort. "I'll have to consult my lawyer."

"I haven't been faithful," she said, in case he didn't catch it the first time. "You did nothing wrong. It was all me."

"Kala, I -"

"Tell the truth," she said. "It'd be easier that way." She nodded at the folder beneath the files Rajan was sifting through. "It's all in there. The evidence."

"You won't be able to come home."

"I know." Her voice was shaking from exhaustion more than fear. The emotional turmoil of the past few weeks was starting to take its toll.

"Are you staying at ou- the flat in Paris?" he quickly amended.

Our flat. She shook her head, pretending not to notice. "Somewhere else."

A flash of something dark like jealousy crossed his eyes before he looked away, swallowing hard. She looked at her hands until she knew he'd held back his tears. She knew he wanted to ask if she was staying with Wolfgang. But he didn't press. Instead, he asked, waving the folder, "These people… A-are you sure you're safe?"

"We are."

"We -" he paused for a few seconds, before nodding abruptly - "right. Well, I -"

"It's okay, Rajan," she found herself saying. "I'll be okay."

"Me, too," he says, unblinking.

They couldn't find a reason to stay in the cafe after that. He got up, and she did the same, hiding her wince as she tried not to pull on her stitches too much. There was no need to worry Rajan more, not when the matter was out of his hands. He opened the door for her when they exited. They stopped on the sidewalk.

"You'll tell me when this is over?" he asked, glancing furtively around once more, like he was expecting someone to be listening in. "So my lawyer can…"

"I'll call you," she promised.

"Be safe." There was a hesitation to his voice, something she couldn't place. It reminded her of the guilt she'd experienced every time he'd called. But perhaps she was projecting; there was no reason for him to feel guilty about this.

With a last nod, he turned around and made his way down the street. She walked the opposite way. She thought about turning around, to see if he was watching her walk away, but she shook her head with a rigor, picked up her pace and crossed the street before walking down the steps of the metro stop. She ignored the buzzing in her head she couldn't attribute to the Blockers wearing off, not for another -

She checked the burner in her purse and was surprised to see it was one in the afternoon. When she was in the café, time passed by agonizingly slowly. Now it felt like she was in and out of there too quick, with no time to dwell on what she'd said. What she'd told. What she couldn't take back.

Sun was waiting for her on the platform. For a second Kala was surprised Sun was in Lyon — she had all but forgotten Sun was keeping a close watch on her. Sun didn't say a word when Kala approached, but patted her on the shoulder firmly, a knowing look in her eyes.

The train came within minutes. She sat down and closed her eyes, hands clasped tightly on top of her lap. As the doors closed and the train jerked into motion, something heavy lifted off her chest. She exhaled and imagined the weight dissipating into the stifled underground air, vanishing without a way back to her.

She was free.

That evening, when the buzzing in Kareem's head ceased, he closed his eyes and concentrated on the presence of his protégée. Before his Blocker had worn off just now, he'd heard Mavis' voice in their shared mind, mumbling thoughts he couldn't yet decipher.

"Jus' holler when you're done, 'aight?" Stanley patted him on the shoulder before leaving for the small cramped kitchen ten steps away.

They'd moved from the Chicago hideout after Jonas had failed to return. Kareem had wanted to go out and look for him, but his legs couldn't carry him too far these days, after the bloody number the Headhunters did on him. And everyone at their safe house had agreed to the protocol: if someone wasn't back in ninety minutes after the Blocker trade, they relocate without them.

"Oh, Wolfgang's got the memo. Milt creeped into his head this morning," Mavis said, appearing next to Kareem on the blow-up mattress. "But thanks, anyway. And hi."

Despite everything, Kareem chuckled. It had only been a month and so since he'd last seen her after he'd volunteered to be turned in. Mavis' voice was unmistakably hers, but remarkably different from the last time he'd communicated with her in their minds after her shift at BPO had ended, the night before she joined forces with the August 8 cluster.

"I see you've managed to track my thoughts fairly quickly. Good work."

"Well, I wanted to make sure you're not, you know, dead?"

He shrugged. Considering everything, that was more than a warranted concern.

"You've been Blocked too," she said. "I can kinda hear you before I take my Blockers. Been a few days." She looked around his hideout. "I'm guessing Jonas came to your rescue?"

"Guess he didn't wanna leave me to rot."

"Wish he'd done that with us." She rolled her eyes. "I mean, life would've been easier if he'd told us about Lila's cluster and Angelica and all that sensate-siblings thing. But no, apparently making a run for it was the way to go."

"That's Jonas for you. Always thinks he knows best."

Mavis hummed, still annoyed. Then she frowned and asked, "You think they're gonna pry it out of him? Our location and all that?"

"They'll try. Jonas should hold them off for a few days. But remember to relocate," Kareem reminded her, "soon as you can."

Considering the stakes of having Jonas back in interrogation, relocation was more than necessary. And Kareem sure wasn't about to let the August 8 cluster find themselves in jeopardy when they were so close to finding Veronika and those Headhunter cronies she hid behind. They may be his only chance to get back at Milton for his crimes against Ismael.

Mavis' posture froze for a few seconds. Then she turned and said, "Just told the cluster. They're on it. Gonna be hard with so many of us, though. Maybe we'll have to split."

"Have you sorted out a way to communicate?"

"We got hackers. We'll manage."

Kareem nodded in approval. "How's the preparation going?"

"We've got leads. And information. And explosives. And basically a mini-army with all the skills you can get. The Archipelago's helping out, too. So… expect an epic victory."

"And bloodshed," he mumbled, more to himself than to her.

He thought about the last time he'd seen his brother. It was the day before he'd left to see Dr El-Saadawi. And he'd promised to return in a fortnight.

His return came in the form of ashes in a tightly sealed metallic urn, anonymously addressed. Kareem had scattered the ashes along the Nile, near the shore where they used to row, and vowed for revenge against the man who'd murdered his brother in cold blood.

Mavis had heard what he said, nonetheless. "Yeah, bloodshed," she echoed. A dark look crossed her eyes. In their minds, Kareem saw a glimpse of Morgan shooting himself to death, and the gray eyes of Karl Pelzer. "We'll get him. We'll get all of them."

"I never doubted that."

He patted her on the shoulder. "But take care of yourself, alright? You and Kiira."

Mavis smirked. "We'll try."

The next second she was gone. A minute later he heard a buzzing in his head, before the voices that sounded like Mavis faded altogether. With a groan, he reached for the Blockers by his mattress and the bottle of water, and cringed as the familiar bland pill made its way down his throat. His mind felt empty without his connections, but it was a necessary evil for the sake of discretion.

If all went well, he wouldn't have to be stay this for much longer. It was a pity he wouldn't be there to witness Mavis' allies put a bullet through Milton's head. But the Headhunter's death would be the next best thing.

Nomi typed away on her laptop during the first shift, hoping to track down the well-hidden information of the people at the top of the BPO chain. Hernando found himself entranced by the figures popping up on the screen, the rhythm of her fingers tapping against the keys.

Nomi looked up from her laptop. "You tired?" she asked.

"It's difficult to sleep uninterrupted when you know you're in danger," he said, completely evading the topic he wanted to confront.

She chuckled. "I think cabin fever's getting to us all."

Cabin fever. That was a cleverly named terminology. Though it wasn't entirely true - it wasn't the fact that they had to stay inside that made them reckless. It was what they had to do once they were forced to get out. "I'm more scared of what comes after."

Now that the reminder of their predicament was a constant, Hernando was finding it harder to have a serious conversation about a topic unrelated to BPO and Veronika and Headhunters. He'd been meaning to Nomi about… everything. But how did one go about thanking their partner's cluster-mate for being there for him when Hernando wasn't?

"Uncertainty's always stress-inducing like that," Nomi agreed.

Hernando looked at her screen: there were countless tabs open, and the windows overlapped, including documents filled with with codes and abbreviations he could not decipher. Resourcefulness had been their advantage in this fight. With that, came a better ability to make informed decisions. And with that, came a relative certainty compared to other sensates. All this, and the unlikeliness of the identities of some of Lito's cluster — namely, Lito himself — exponentially increased their chance of success.

"You've managed to eliminate the uncertainty well," Hernando said, after a pause.

Nomi typed in a few more commands. The photo of a middle-aged man in a suit popped up on the screen. "Part of why I got into hacking."

He pushed up his glasses. "Oh?"

"I like finding answers."

Lito had told him about Nomi's past. The general facts, that was. There appeared to be a secret agreement among the cluster not to divulge too-personal details of anyone's past to sapien allies like himself. Perhaps Nomi's hacking stemmed from her personal journey of understanding, growing up. There was something empowering about acquiring knowledge through any means, legal or otherwise. Being in the know had its perks, one of which was the satisfaction that came with sharing the truth with others.

"The discovery process can be quite rewarding," he agreed. "It's why I got into art history. It gave me a new perspective."

"Your version of truth?"

"It's my way of understanding the truth, as told by what the artist chose to present."

They were going back and forth. As stimulating as this conversation was, Hernando would have preferred to have it at a more peaceful time, in some café by a museum in California on a Sunday afternoon. He'd been meaning to tell Nomi what he'd wanted to say since Lito first told him about all the help she'd given. Now that they were discussing art, it seemed an appropriate time.

"On our flight here," he started, changing the topic before he could ramble on about truths and presentation and the limitation of a purely visual medium of expression. "Lito told me you helped him. When he was… making a major decision about his career. And Dani."

Nomi smiled. "He was at the Diego Rivera Museum. That was where he went to think."

Hernando quirked an eyebrow. "Really? I thought he didn't care for museums. He says they're too quiet."

"Mm. Sounds like Lito."

"It does." He chuckled. "I took him to another museum on our second date. He whined about it the whole way."

Nomi frowned. "He likes when you talk about art."

The validation from someone who could hear Lito's thoughts brought a smile to Hernando's face. After staying with the cluster for more than a month, Hernando had grown used to people knowing more about his partner than himself. it did feel nice to have someone to share his woes with.

"Well, he liked it after I convinced him to sit still and listen to my commentary."

Lito used to joke Hernando was a walking audio guide. After that time, they'd spent all their future dates in art museums around Mexico City. Most of these dates consisted of Lito pointing to the most abstract pieces of art, asking for his "professional judgement".

"See, that's something only you can do," said Nomi. She typed in a few more codes, prompting the system to run automatically, and put her laptop on the coffee stand in front of them, freeing up her legs. "You're a good influence."

"You too," he said. "Nomi, thank you for helping him come to a decision."

"I think he knew all along what he needed to do. He was scared."

"I know, but I… Thank you, Nomi. I didn't want to lose him. I never would've broken up with him, but after the - the situation with Dani, I had to -"

"You did what you must," she finished for him.

He nodded yes. "He did, too."

"I know it's harder for the three of you. I hope what I said didn't make you do something you weren't prepared to do."

He thought about it. "I don't think I'd ever be fully prepared. I don't know about Lito. But what he did? I think it was good for his career. Even if for a few days we thought that was it. Or he wouldn't have gotten into a Kit Wrangler movie."

"That's true." She smiled wistfully.

Interesting. Hernando wondered if Lito's temperaments always affected his cluster when the connections weren't Blocked, because they seemed to know everything about Lito. The thought of someone like Sun sobbing her eyes out made him snort.

Nomi gave him a quizzical look.

"Did you all feel it?" he asked. "When he was upset?"

"The emotion affected all of us. But not as strongly as it did to him personally."

"Hmm." He supposed it made sense. Connection or not, a feeling should logically be strongest at its original source. Personal attachment was the major factor.

"He does the same for us, too," said Nomi.

"That time in the car," Hernando mumbled, remembering. At her confused look, he added, "When he told me about the crying Korean woman. He was in her place? Emotionally?"

Nomi laughed. "Yeah. He's an emotional outlet for a lot of us."

Judging by how Lito was before his migraines had started, this connection was going to make him burst with the sheer amount of feelings. Hernando imagined Lito screaming with eight times the intensity at once, and cringed.

"He wouldn't experience every emotion," Nomi explained. "Just when we need it most."

"I suppose not everyone is as… expressive as Lito."

They exchanged a smirk. "So far he's top of the list in terms of expressiveness for me," said Nomi. "I'm sorry you'll have to live with, well -"

"It's no problem." Hernando shrugged. "I survived his tantrums before."

He wondered how many of Lito's antics over the past year came from experiences outside of his own life. But this was Lito. He reacted to everything with that intensity. Not that Hernando complained — the passion was what drawn him to the actor in the first place — but when Lito had a hard time calming down? It could get a little taxing.

"Most of his emotions are still his," Nomi agreed. "But occasionally he might… react, for no apparent reason. Like that day in the car, with Sun."

"Now I'll be able to tell." He sighed. "I kind of miss it."

"The tantrums?"

"The tantrums," he said with a chuckle. "It's frustrating. But now I have an explanation, and these days Lito's still Lito but he's so -" frustrated, he pinched the bridge of his nose, nudging up his glasses further - "different. Especially after Beijing, now that he's on Blockers all the time."

"It's pretty isolating after you've been used to having all these voices. Like a part of your mind isn't responding."

"I'm sorry," he said. He didn't know how it felt to lose a connection he'd never had, but he could imagine the emptiness. He'd felt that after he'd broken up with Lito.

"I miss the connection," she confessed. "I know we all do."

"You'll get it back," Hernando found himself saying. That was a first; he'd always been on the optimistic side, but pep talks were far from his area of expertise. "I mean -" he gestured at her laptop, where the system Nomi had opened was still searching for information on the sapiens automatically under her command - "Lito says you're the best hacker there is."

"Me? I'm far from the best."

"You hacking's saved us a lot of times, Nomi," he said matter-of-factly. "And everyone else has a special power, too. With the fighting, and the -" he couldn't believe he was saying this - "the explosions."

"Lito told you about Kala's explosions?"

"Every night before we go to sleep." Hernando said in mock annoyance. "In great detail."

She shook her head, chuckling. "Sounds like Lito."

"Lito's lucky to have a cluster like this."

"We're lucky to have him, too."

"I'm still new to this Homo sensorium revelation," Hernando told her, "but if there's anyone who can overthrow an organization of power-hungry sensates and sapiens? I think your cluster has a good chance."

"We do," Nomi agreed. "Let's hope so."

Wolfgang slept fitfully, stirring in their bed. The motion roused Kala from her half-awake state and pulled her away from a dream. She heard a faint buzzing in the back of her mind, echoes of voices drifting closer. The alarm clock said 2:30 A.M., and her next Blocker dose wasn't due for another half hour.

She frowned. Had her body been so acclimatized to the pills already? What would this mean if she had to stay on them for another month, or more?

"Please," Wolfgang mumbled, whimpering. "Please."

"Wolfgang." She edged closer to him and buried her head in his neck, hoping her presence was calming. "Wolfgang, you're safe. You're safe."

The buzzing in her mind ceased.

If she listened carefully, she could hear the sound of water, of a wooden instrument thumping against something metallic. She could also make out a woman's voice, a voice that sounded like Wolfgang's mother in his earlier memories.

His mother spoke, but Kala couldn't hear her words. Then her voice grew louder. Then she was sobbing. Wolfgang trembled from the memory.

Please, Anton, please -

Kala heard a plate shattering. Wolfgang sat up with a jolt, eyes still closed, his consciousness gliding between wakefulness and sleep. She said his name and reached out to him, but Wolfgang scrambled away as soon as her fingers made contact with his skin.

Don't walk away when I'm talking to you!

It was his father's voice. Kala froze. Wolfgang hugged his knees close to his chest in a fetal position, balling their blanket with tightened fists.

She knew better than to try and rouse him from a nightmare when he was resisting physical contact. But the painful echoes in their shared minds reminded Kala that there was another way. A way to wake him from within.

Kala closed her eyes and let the memory take over.

The image formed around the darkness of her mind, solidifying into the kitchen she recalled from Wolfgang's earlier memories. Wolfgang's mother cowered in a corner next to the kitchen drawers. Next to her, on the ground, were pieces of a shattered plate.

You hear?! bellowed his father.

His mother reached behind her back and winced, pulling out a broken piece of china between her back and the furniture, the corners smeared with blood. His father grabbed her by the sides of her ribs and pulled her forward. She wheezed, choking between sobs.

When he let go again and slammed her hard against the floor behind her where the rest of the broken pieces had fallen, Kala noticed his fingertips were stained red.

Stop! she cried out. Her voice came out different, like a child's voice — Wolfgang's voice — hoarse from screaming. Kala found herself standing in the room now, inhabiting her own body, an addition to the memory that had wormed its way into Wolfgang's nightmare. Anton Bogdanow turned to her with a sneer, eyes glinting madly.

Logically Kala knew he couldn't have touched her. But when a memory was combined with a nightmare, her sensate mind had a way of playing tricks on her perception. In this instance everything felt real. Kala was there, she was trembling under the yellowed kitchen lights, and she could feel the heat from the oven and the sound of the kettle boiling. The sobs escaped from her own throat, and a sharp pain jabbed at her back. Blood was seeping from her cuts, soaking through the fabric of her shirt.

Anton grabbed her by the shoulder and shoved her back. She fell against the ground, her cuts scraping against the tiles, and for a second she couldn't see. A whimper escaped, and tears dribbled into her mouth, a salty taste mixed with the tang of blood. This time Kala sounded like herself.

She blinked more tears out of her eyes. White dots flickered in and out of her vision, each one bringing a sharp pain to the back of her head. The man in front of her crouched down, pulling her up by the collar with a bloodied hand.

When she tilted her chin up, it wasn't Anton's eyes that Kala saw. It was Wolfgang's.

They locked eyes for a second before he let go, and she hit the ground again.

Pain echoed through her body, little fragments of memories coursing through her veins. She convulsed with the full force of fear mixed with agony before blacking out altogether. When she came to, she was back in the bed she shared with Wolfgang. He wasn't curled into a ball anymore. He looked at her, and back at his hands, and back at her, scrambling away, eyes burdened with shame.

"Wolfgang!" she called out. She didn't know how loud she was. Her voice sounded like it was far away, crouching in some distant corner of their shared mind hidden by the darkness.

Then Kala was in Wolfgang's body, looking down at his hands. His fingertips were stained with blood — some dried, some fresh. From his eyes, her nightgown was soaked red, and she was lying on their bed, glassy-eyed, unmoving.

Someone was sobbing, someone close enough for her to reach. It took a second for her to realize it was Wolfgang. The last time he'd cried was at his key shop a year ago, pressing a ball of fabric into Felix's chest, begging his brother to stay.

Kala felt her consciousness shift back in her own body. She scooted forward and kneeled beside him, her hands hovering by his shoulder. Slowly, she reached out.

He froze when her hands made contact with his clammy skin.

She pulled him closer, ignoring the dull pain from the healing cut on her side. "Wolfgang," she said again, softly. "Wolfgang, look at me."

After a second's pause, he obliged. The sight of his tears made her chest ache, the pain reminiscent of his torture — paddles pulsing against his chest, fists pummeling against a never-fading bruise. "'M sorry," he mumbled.

"Look at me," she said again, reaching for his hand. She brought his hand against her cheeks. "I'm not hurt. It was a dream, Wolfgang. Just a dream."

A painful dream, plagued by the memories of his past.

He drew his hand away and looked at his palm again. Through his eyes, Kala saw no more blood resting on the tips of his fingers.

"You'd never hurt me."

A look of something dark crossed his eyes, but it wasn't directed at her. She'd come to know it as an anger Wolfgang had reserved for himself. She heard the sound of his father laughing, reverberating in the hollows of his mind, one that resurfaced every time he was faced with another memory of his past.

Wolfgang drew away again, leaning against the headboard.

"I thought I did." His voice was hollow. "I thought I already -"

"You didn't," she said. She sighed and leaned against the headboard, pulling the blanket over them both. He didn't move away. "You wouldn't."

He stared straight ahead. In the depths of his memories, his father was still laughing.

Kala let the images from Wolfgang's memories crossed their minds: the sneering faces of men who worked with his uncle, the ones he'd shot and the ones she finished off with her own explosion; his cousin, bearing down at him in the parking lot; that man his uncle had ordered him to shoot in some abandoned warehouse where the police never looked -

All the way back to his father.

The laughing stopped, replaced by a burning sensation, of a rage coursing through his body, driving him to pull the rope against the neck of a man twice his size until he'd gone limp and collapsed against the cement. When Wolfgang looked at her again, fire was glimmering in the light blue of his eyes. A reflection of the night of his first kill.

"I'm sorry, Kala," he grumbled.

"No. Don't ever."

Wolfgang shook his head. Glimpses of Rajan flashed by their minds, ending with the memory of this morning he'd pulled from her. Kala saw herself walking away without turning back. She'd thought about it, but didn't.

"I've made my decision, Wolfgang. We both did." She turned to him abruptly. "Are you having second thoughts?"

"No, I -" He looked at his hands and shook his head. Did he still expect to see blood?

Then she saw Milton. First, the boy from the memories he'd glimpsed this morning and divulged to his cluster in the living room before lunch. Then, the images faded into the face of the Headhunter that would stop at nothing to kill.

Wolfgang was nothing like the Headhunter, he knew, despite the demons they'd shared in their pasts. Kala knew that his nightmares, especially those fueled by the added intensity of a sensate connection, were a reflection of his fear. Over the past year she'd felt hints of his fear in their sleep, flashes of pain and rage he'd shoved away and never spoke of again. But here their physical presence amplified the feelings he'd buried deep, until they'd pounced from the depths of his memories to haunt them both.

"It was just a dream," she repeated. She reached for the Blockers on her bedstead and the bottle of water, handing both to him. He accepted them and down the pills in a flash, like they couldn't have come sooner.

After she took the bottles from him and finished her own dose, she put them back and put her arm around his shoulder, looking at him sternly until he'd relented and lied back down. He turned to face the wall. She didn't stop him, knowing he needed space, but she drew herself closer to remind him she wasn't going anywhere.

Before the buzzing kicked in, she saw him nod.

Now that Kala had ended things with Rajan, now that there was nothing to fall back on, the demons of Wolfgang's past came spiraling back, ready to plunge him back into the darker days of his life. She wished she could banish them for good, but the roots they'd taken inside his mind ran deep. It would take time.

She wasn't going anywhere.

A/N:

Apologies for leaving you all on such an angsty note. (Wait no, let's face it, this chapter's like 4/5 angst. Oops!)

I promise the Wolfgang situation will be somewhat resolved (as resolved as it can be, anyway, what with Wolfie's everlasting self-loathing) in part 2, with the help of a certain Hawaiian-shirted brother. I am splitting this into two parts because by the looks of things this chapter will likely exceed 15k, and that is a long way to scroll down. Plus this chapter spans two days, so day by day is a logical break-off point, I think.

Also, it's almost finals week, so I can't write as much as I did in November. I have 3/5 of part 2 done but the other bits require time that I currently don't have, haha! Part 2 should be out by next weekend. And then I take more finals and I'm flying home. So…. expect more delays. But whoo! The winter holidays is almost upon us! Which means I'll be writing a lot faster, starting December 21st-ish.

A shoutout to LettersfromLaika, my lovely beta who came out of her university-induced hiatus to help me with the Kala and Rajan conversation because she'd tackled it in her amazing post-canon fic, "The Invisibility Trap" (read it!), and I asked her to show me her ways. If you'd read her fic (and you should!) and are wondering about the striking similarities between our versions… Well, in her words, "there are a limited number of ways that Rajan could react given the general decency of his character. Now if it were Wolfgang in his position… *gleefully thinks of the angst and bitter detachment*." (But that would never happen, because Kalagang is life.)