a/n: Hi, everyone. I hope the romantics among you like this chapter. It's a bit longer than what I usually post, but I couldn't bear break it up, b/c it should be read through from start to finish. So grab a coffee and get comfy. This is the Rorie&Knight story, the story of their friendship, told from Rorie's point of view. And it also gives quite a bit of background about our favourite Daughter of the One (unless you're a Synergy fan, which I am, but I know things about her that you all don't yet - AgentBunny, the AVID Trin fan, I think it will be my mission to redeem her somehow in your eyes, though not any time soon).

You all may want to skim the first half of Chapter 5, as there is some narrative overlap re: the night that Knight sneaks out of the orphanage

Chapter 21
(someone to watch over me)

Rorie stood outside her apartment door, body against the cold metal, pulse racing. She frantically took inventory of the books that she'd managed to snatch in her haste, and realized with a sigh that half of what she needed was still inside. And there was no going back. Not with him in there.

"Stupid. Stupid," she chided herself, trying to figure what she'd been thinking, gazing at him like that, watching Knight sleep as if this were the first time she'd gotten up to find him dozing on the sofa. It had happened countless times before, and she normally would have woken him, either by pulling at his hair, flicking his ear, or some other playful brand of little-sister torment. Then he'd grab her by the waist and wrestle her to the ground until she begged for mercy, her screeches waking her parents in the process, which would doom them both to dish-duty after breakfast. That was the custom in her house. What had gone wrong?

If only she had an answer to that question. Rorie had been so confused, so conflicted as she hovered over his body, faced with the man she'd fallen asleep thinking about, the same man she'd dreamed about the night before. An involuntary flush had warmed her cheeks as she recalled the specifics of her subconscious fantasies, bringing her fingers to her lips, neck, and shoulder, stopping over her heart. It was the same path Knight had followed, a trail of lingering, slow kisses, mouth hot and wet, leaving goosbumps in his wake. How could she have imagined such a thing? Indeed, having no previous experience from which to draw, the intensity and detail of the dream was surprising to her, as was the clarity of her memory of it. She could still feel him caressing her so gently, so wonderfully, whispering her name into her ear, 'My Rorie.'

Before she'd even realized what she was doing, Rorie had kneeled down at the end of the sofa, close to his head, looking at him as if to beg for some answers, as if to ask his advice as her best friend, what was she to do? She missed not being able to talk to him, and ironically, she'd never felt more disconnected from Knight than she had in that moment. Again, she'd wanted to cry, sitting on the floor in her nightclothes, feeling that she was being forced into something for which she was not prepared, something she'd never asked for or expected to desire. She didn't want things to change, and yet they had, or rather she had, and Rorie didn't know anything about this woman she had become. So much of her self-identity rested with Knight, in her friendship with him, that without it, she was more lost than she would ever admit aloud. She needed to tell him, but at the same time this was unthinkable. And all the while, Rorie couldn't move from her place beside him, gazing at him, thinking he was the most attractive man she knew, suppressing the urge to reach out and run her fingers through his curls. Or adjust the covers, or any excuse to make contact, to express everything she was holding back.

And then, as if by magic, Knight's eyes blinked open, golden and hazy with sleep. She froze completely, and he didn't say a word; he just looked at her. It must have been only a second or so, but to Rorie it seemed much longer, where she was unable to speak or move, held captive by his gaze, still kneeling next to him.

"Hi."

"Hello," she whispered back stupidly. And he touched her hand, which was resting on the arm of the sofa. Rorie jumped at the contact, the shock releasing her from his spell. "Sorry," she mumbled, getting up and backing away. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"You didn't?"

She realized her error. "I mean I did. I did mean to wake you. For breakfast."

Knight pulled himself into a sitting position. He didn't have a shirt on, and she found herself looking at his plugs with fascination, as if she'd never seen them before. Her stomach tightened.

"What are we having?"

"I don't know. I mean, I'm not staying. I've got to run as soon as I get dressed," Rorie said, averting her attention to her hands, then her bedroom door. "I'm already running late," she explained. "So I'll just… you know." She pointed to the bathroom and then hurried away, feeling completely ridiculous, and wondering what he must think of her.

She rushed through her shower and threw on some pants and one of her mother's old sweaters. And then, after stuttering a few more apologies, she ran from her own home, closing the front door behind her and pressing her back to the bright red metal.

"Stupid. Stupid…" Rorie said again. "Stupid." But eventually her self-reproach faded away, and all that was left was him.

"God, Knight." She breathed, shutting her eyes. "What are you doing to me?"

It was too intense, the emotion that kept her plastered to the door, as close as she could be to him without having to endure those eyes. The eyes she knew so well; she'd been looking into them for over eight years now, but suddenly it was as if she'd never really seen them before. As if she'd never really seen him before. He was beautiful. Strangely beautiful, in a way she couldn't describe rationally, no more than she could verbalize the essence of music or poetry. That is, he touched whatever it was that made her human, and he made her want to touch back.

But it was not the first time. Her entire life, Knight had touched her, and always when she needed it most. Isn't that what they say about angels, Rorie wondered, knowing Knight would laugh at her if she ever suggested such a thing. But that's only because he had no idea how much he'd done for her, how much his friendship had meant over the years. And it was so like him not to know, to go through his life happily oblivious to the fact that everything she'd become, everything she'd been able to achieve, it was all because of him. How strange that it had worked out that way, that Knight gave to her, to she who had everything. Well, almost everything. Because he was a boy who'd come from nothing. From worse than nothing. He'd come from the fields.

Unlike Knight, Rorie had grown up around a great deal of love, and it was only during her adolescence that she came to realize what a rare blessing this was for a child. That is, over forty percent of the Zionist population had been born into slavery, and a significant number of free born children had lost their parents in the Great War. Simply put, hers was a generation of orphans. And in a city where nearly every one had very little, Rorie never wanted for anything. Councilors frequently presented her with the city's most lavish nonessentials, and the poor would bestow trinkets they could ill-afford. Not that she kept any of it. Her parents always saw to it that the gifts were returned in the form of good-will donations. But still, she had clean clothes made from bright, fresh fabrics, and more books than most children saw in a lifetime (Ghost had made it his mission to ensure she had a hard-copy of every available publication, both scientific and literary). But more precious than any of these luxuries were her parents. Rorie had a family. And not just any family. She had the family.

And yet she had been unhappy. Not because she was spoiled or elitist, as almost every other child bitterly thought, intimidated or simply resentful of her parentage. But simply because when she attempted to integrate herself socially with her orphaned counterparts, no other child in the city ever looked at her as anything but… well, different was probably one of the kinder adjectives. In fact, her peers were relentless in their torment. She'd been told father was a false prophet, and her mother was a whore, or whatever other nonsense they could say to disgrace her. The breaking point came one day when a boy cut her hair off at the root of her ponytail as a show of his contempt. He was a pod born and had been out for over a year, but his hair had never grown in, which was a condition that affected only one in one thousand people (Morpheus, incidentally, also fell into this category). And so it was his poetic justice. But Rorie was only nine, and understood none of the psychology of his anger, or the intended political statement his actions carried. Only that he hated her for who she was, just like all the others.

That afternoon Rorie had run home, humiliated and furious for allowing herself to be victimized again, and too embarrassed to tell her parents what had happened. So she rummaged through her mother's closet to find a wrap to cover her head, the kind of traditional Zionist style of scarf that hid one's hair (a long shot considering this type of clothing was not habitually part of her mother's wardrobe). But she did find one, hemmed in the most beautiful lace she'd ever seen, with tiny diamonds sewn into the pattern. The delicate blue material was nearly weightless in her hands as Rorie tied it around her chin, a little awestruck by the sheer majesty of the garment. And that's when her father caught her, their reflected gazes meeting in the vanity.

"Is that…" and he trailed off, kneeling down to her level and examining the fabric with wonder. "Oh Rorie, this is your mother's wedding veil."

"I'm sorry," she heard herself say, eyes cast down to the floor.

"Don't be. You look as beautiful in it as she did. Your mother saving it for you to wear one day. That is, if the gods ever create a man worthy enough." He smiled thoughtfully and lifted the long train from the ground. "Custom calls for the groom to drape it around the bride at the beginning of the ceremony. I was so nervous I would mess it up. You see, there is actually a special way you have to tie it… I'm not sure if I remember, but…"

He reached out to fix the knot, but Rorie darted away, her vision blurred with tears. "Daddy…" Her voice shook.

And she cried, because she didn't want anything to do with the jeweled riches crowning her head. She was tired of being an outcast, tired of carrying her parents' deified status on her shoulders. The burden was too much.

"What, my angel?"

"No, no, I don't want to be your angel anymore!" she yelled, the words pouring from her heart to her lips, the way they always did when she spoke to her father. It was impossible to hold back with him. "I wish I'd never been born into this family! I wish I were anyone else but who I am!"

And she'd never forget the look on his face. It was as if she'd physically slapped him, though he recovered from the blow almost instantly, pulling her to his chest and holding her until the sobbing subsided.

"I'm sorry," she begged him, again and again. And she'd never been sorrier in her life. Her hair no longer mattered, all that she could think of was how she'd hurt him, of that raw flash of pain and shock in his eyes. She'd openly rejected her birthright and shamed her father, and the latter offence was unforgivable. But he rocked her, comforted her, loved her in spite of it all. Unconditional love. That was her father's greatest legacy to her; indeed, the only one of any consequence.

But that day had changed her, and the stunted length of her hair acted as a constant reminder of why. Rorie's faith in the world was shaken, so much so that she gave up on friendship with outsiders entirely, especially with pod borns. None of them could be trusted. Her parents and extended family were the only exceptions, and so they became her entire world, and for awhile, it was enough.

But it wasn't long afterwards that her mother accepted her captaincy of the Neb from Morpheus, and this rocked her world again, much more than either of her parents realized. Rorie was terrified of losing them, her overactive child's imagination conjuring images of sentinels and agents, bullets and brimstone. And though they still spent more than two thirds of their time in Zion, and spoke to her on the com daily, every mission was agony. They'd abandoned her, her two best friends, and it was only a matter of time before they would leave one day and not return. And for what?

Knight.

Yes, Rorie remembered with an ironic smile. She had really hated him at first. Hated what he represented. That is, her parents' new life as the heroes who rescued hair-hacking orphans from the fields, leaving her behind to risk their lives for people she didn't even know. For people who would hurt her if given the chance. And it didn't help that Knight was all her mother had talked about for a week before they left to free him. He was one of the youngest hackers they'd ever found, had remarkable intuition, was a real natural, blah, blah, blah. Oh, and did she mention he was a Quebecer? Well, that was hardly a surprise, all the greats are Canadians, after all…

And then they'd taken three weeks to unplug him, which was longer than usual, because apparently Knight's aptitude tests were off the charts and her mother had taken an interest in his training. She wanted to instill the basics before 'Zion ruined him.' Indeed, by the time her parents eventually got back, Rorie had heard more about Knight-the-wonder-battery than she could stomach, and was wickedly delighted to hear that her parents left the twelve-year-old boy at the orphanage before returning home to see her. Finally, things could get back to normal.

Now, imagine her surprise and immense distaste when Knight showed up at their apartment that night. Her apartment. Dragging her poor, overworked parents from bed to answer the door. And never had she ever heard such deliberate self-pity! He'd run away from the orphanage, he didn't fit in there, and then something in French, and he missed Trin. And Rorie couldn't believe her ears; he'd actually called her mother Trin!

He should have been corrected. He should have been put in his place. But instead, her mother knelt down and wrapped her arms around the boy, delicate fingers stroking the back of his nearly bald head. She'd called him a 'little monster,' which was also a mistake, because that was one of Rorie's names. And though she wasn't particularly fond of the moniker, she had no desire to share it, either.

"Please, can I stay here for just one night? Just this once, Trin. Don't send me back there," Knight begged. "I want to stay with you. Please!"

"How in the world did you get here in the first place?" Trinity asked, prying herself away so she could close the front door and turn on the living room lamp. At this point, Knight was already on the couch, making himself comfortable.

"The security protocols at the orphanage are surprisingly uninspired. It's almost as if they don't expect you to run away…"

Trinity folded her arms across her chest and stared down at him. "I meant, how did you find out where I live?"

"Oh. At that place, any information is available for a price."

"And what could you possibly have to sell? With nothing but the clothes on your back…"

"Let's just say I'm not the only jailbird who broke out of Alcatraz tonight." He winked, and Rorie was certain he'd be in trouble, even though she had no idea what 'Alcatraz' was. But her mother just shook her head and sighed, as if it were some accomplishment that this boy had been able to track her down and wake them all up in the middle of the night.

And then, finally, she seemed to notice Rorie was standing there. "Oh Knight, this is my daughter," she said. "Rorie, this is-"

"I'm Knight. With a 'K.' Like the chess piece," he said, holding out his hand and grinning broadly. "I'm new here… so I guess you could also call me a… rookie? Which is funny, you know, because that's also a chess piece." Then he scowled, and wrinkled up his nose. "Trin… do people play chess in the real world? I don't want to sound stupid every time I say that."

"I got it," Rorie said, taking his hand and smiling as sweetly as she could. "Mom, maybe I should give Knight a tour, if he's going to stay tonight."

Trinity naively thought this was a good idea, and Knight followed Rorie into her room.

"What do you think you're doing?" she hissed once she had him alone.

"You invited me in," was the infuriatingly logical response.

"No. This is my home. And that is my mother making you tea out there!"

"But Trin…"

"And stop calling her that! Nobody but Dad ever calls her that. I call her Mom, and Dad calls her Trin, and orphans go to the orphanage, and they stay there. That's Zion. Get used to it."

"Trin told me a lot about you… but she didn't tell me you were so mean. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going back to my couch."

Knight turned to leave, but Rorie stopped him. "Wait. Mom told you about me? What did she say?"

He shrugged. "All good things… which makes me wonder. You don't have a twin sister in here, do you? Like one you tied up, gagged, and shoved under the bed?"

"No, specifically. What did she say? Did she say I was smart? Like smart enough to work on the ship smart? Because I am, you know. I'm very smart."

"Well… no. She didn't say that." And he seemed amused, but Rorie didn't care, because she was absolutely devastated.

That night Rorie pulled out all her study materials, which included textbooks, technical manuals, Fleet Academy prep guides, and her mother's original blueprints of the new hovercraft specs. And she sat with a flashlight, as she often did, reading and memorizing the data, taking note of every detail. But Rorie couldn't concentrate as she normally did; she was too discouraged by what Knight had told her. A few tears smudged her mother's handwriting on the pages, and Rorie leaned her head back on her pillow, covered her eyes with her hand, and sobbed. She sobbed for her intellectual shortcomings, for the loss of her parents, and mostly, she sobbed for her loneliness, which, in the absence of her family, had begun to take its toll.

And then Knight was there, beside her bed, large hazel eyes soft with concern. Startled, she told him to go away, and she really meant it, but he didn't budge. After a long period of silent deliberation, Knight climbed up onto the mattress and wrapped his arms around her shoulders. "What's wrong?" he whispered.

And despite herself, she told him the truth. The real crux of it, anyhow. "I'm never going learn all of this. I'm never going to be good enough."

He shuffled through the papers on her bed. "Wow. Good enough for what? NASA mission control?"

"Don't you get it? To go with them. Mom only takes the best on the Neb," she said through tears. "I don't want to be left behind anymore…"

Overwrought, she couldn't say any more, so Knight held her more tightly, and he stayed with her until she fell asleep, all the while not saying a word. It was the first act of true kindness Rorie had ever been shown by an outsider, and the first time she didn't feel judged or revered without cause.

Then, when she woke up the next morning, he was gone.

"Well, to the orphanage, of course," was her mother's response to her first question. "He can't stay here forever. Last night was a one time thing only."

"He sure didn't want to go, though," her father remarked. "You made quite an impression on him, Rorie."

"Me?"

Her mother smiled. "Knight told us how you sat up with him last night, to keep him company when he was lonely? He said if it hadn't been for you, he probably wouldn't have been able to sleep. I think that was really nice of you. He's had a bit of a rough transition, the poor thing."

For a week Rorie was dumbfounded and confused. What kind of game was this boy playing with her? To be so nice, take no credit, and then leave without saying goodbye, as if it were nothing? It didn't make any sense to her, and Rorie secretly wished he'd come back, if only so she could confront him, demand an explanation. Then one afternoon Rorie was on the catwalk with David and Morpheus, and she saw him. Knight was with a group of other boys his age, all pod-born, and they were laughing, presumably at something he'd said. One was rubbing his fuzzy head and punching him playfully, and Rorie heard another holler, "That's our Rookie!"

They all ended up waiting at the same elevator, and when Knight's friends spotted her, there was an abrupt silence. Rorie noticed a few of them cupping their mouths and whispering to him, grinning. Of course they were telling him everything, who she really was, and goodness knows what other things, all of which were probably lies. She felt her face burn as she leaned closer to Morpheus, almost cowering under his arm as she self-consciously ran a hand through her short hair. She hated them, and Knight along with them. And all through the agonizingly long ascending trip, Rorie avoided Knight's eyes, as he stood protected in his pack of allies.

"Hey Rookie! Aren't you coming?" one yelled as after the elevator chirped their stop. Knight hadn't moved from Rorie's side.

"Nope. I'll catch you guys later. I have somewhere to be. Cover for me," he replied, letting the doors slide shut.

Rorie just stared at him, and he looked back innocently. Then, as if suddenly recognizing her, he said, "Oh, wait… I think I know you from somewhere." He smiled, with dimples. "You're… Maury, right?"

"Rorie."

"Oh, yeah. Sorry." He chuckled and nudged her. "Are you, uhm. You okay?"

"I'm fine," she replied curtly. As an afterthought she added, "Thank you for your concern."

He nodded, and she could tell he continued to study her, even after she'd looked away. "I was also wondering how that twin sister of yours is doing," he ventured. "You let her out from under the bed now and then? Keep her water bowl nice and fresh?"

Rorie wanted to glare, or ignore him completely, but the goofy smile on his face made both options impossible. "Sometimes," was the answer she managed, only barely suppressing a smirk.

"Good. Cause, I was thinking that maybe we could be friends. I mean, you too, of course. The three of us. If you wanted."

She didn't answer, and when the lift stopped at her level, Morpheus and David stepped out (both looking rather perplexed by the conversation) and Rorie followed suite. At this point, Knight was the only one left in the elevator, and she turned back to look at him curiously. "So where are you going?" she asked. "Where do you have to be?"

"Oh, nowhere. I just… well, I just wanted to say hi to you." He shrugged. "Those guys are idiots, anyway."

The doors began to close, but Rorie suddenly reached out to stop them. "Mom says she misses you all the time," she lied, the words coming out faster than she could stop them. "I'm on my way home, so if you don't have anything else to do… she'd probably appreciate a visit."

He beamed, eyebrows shooting up across his forehead. "Trin misses me? I knew it! I told her she would!"

Of course, the thought did cross her mind that he was only pretending to be her friend, talking to her so that he could later gossip about it behind her back (because this, too, had happened before). Or perhaps all he was interested in was getting close to her mother, whom he obviously adored. But as time went by, Rorie found it increasingly difficult not to give him the benefit of the doubt. Inherently, he was different from the others. She'd never known anyone so openly friendly, or so unconcerned with what other people thought or said. Knight's world was simple. He'd never had a family, and had fallen in love with hers, and would do anything to earn his place in it. As far as he was concerned, it was Trin, Neo, and Rorie. In that order.

But somewhere along the way that order changed, so gradually that none of them noticed it happen. Rorie became first, and they were inseparable. Their connection came about naturally, as Rorie developed from an introverted, bitterly victimized child into something much greater, into everything she could be and had become. It was Knight who changed her. Perhaps not always directly, and certainly never consciously, but it was his friendship that allowed her to embrace life again, to trust Zion again.

The nearly four-year age difference didn't seem to matter; in fact, few people appeared to notice. Rorie had always looked older than she was, and was perceived by most to be more mature than Knight, who had the arguably misleading air of a bashful child. They grew up together, and when Knight decided he wanted to take the Fleet Academy admissions test, it was Rorie who drilled him from her ample study materials, and operated for him when he trained tirelessly in constructs. Knight was admitted at the top of his class one full year early, and was given highest honours in several fields.

In exchange, Knight pried Rorie away from her books long enough to introduce her to many good friends, and snuck her into clubs she was too young to frequent. He had been her first chaperone to a public gathering, her first slow dance partner, and had held her hair back the first time she got too drunk to walk.

That was a memory that still have her pain to recall. She was sixteen, he was twenty, it was his graduation night, and Trinity had just officially granted him full apprenticeship on the Neb. They'd gone out to celebrate.

"Jesus, how many did you have?" Knight looked with horror at the empty shot glasses in front of her. He'd been flirting with some of the senior girls (twins this time – Kesare & Kiana) and hadn't noticed her begin to sample the various experimental beverages that Academy graduation parties always had to offer. It was her first experience with mixing booze, and Rorie was soon to realize that somewhere along the way, she'd gone horribly wrong.

"I'm not sure," was the answer she remembered giving to his question. It had just begun to hit her. "But, you know, that blue stuff fixed my headache. Then the pink stuff gave me another one."

Knight held her by the shoulders, and looked straight into her eyes, examining her. "Jesus, Trin's going to fire me before I even step on board. And your Dad… Oh, I'm a dead man. He'll jack me in and go to town if he sees this."

"I won't tell if you don't."

He chuckled wearily. "No, the doctor who pumps your stomach will do the talking for us. C'mon, we're leaving."

"No! Knight, I'm fine. Let's have fun," she entreated, not quite recognizing her own voice. Another rush of adrenaline sizzled under her skin, and it felt wonderful. "Come and dance with me… ensign."

"Rorie."

Her skin was sweaty and the music in the club pounded in her ears as she threw herself into his arms, pressing their bodies together. Everything in the room but him was spinning, and his chest was marvellously hard against her breasts. "Dance with me. Just a little bit. Like you taught me… right?"

They'd danced many times before, but never in the way she ground herself against him that night. Knight held her firmly by the hips, separating their middles as she moved, though she was too gone to notice or to care. And when there came a pause in the music, Rorie kept her arms locked around his neck, their faces impossibly close. "Knight," she breathed. "I'm so happy for you. All your hard work… but now… you're leaving me. Just like they did... just like they left me all those years ago."

"I'm not leaving you."

"Maybe not yet. But you will." She ran her hands through his hair, fingertips tingling with the stimulants in the drinks. "Tell me you don't really care about any of those other girls," she whispered. "You're still all mine, aren't you?"

"I'll always be yours, Rorie."

And she couldn't control herself. She grabbed the back of his neck, and kissed him, drunkenly and gracelessly, publicly making claim to her territory. It was her first kiss, and her lips were numb from the alcohol, the memory still hazy in her mind. She remembered that Knight hadn't kissed her back, but took her face in his hands and gently eased her away. She could hardly maintain her balance. "Rorie, come with me. You need to lie down."

She nodded her agreement, but couldn't speak coherently, the thoughts a jumbled mess of words and fragments. He took her to his dorm room three floors up, and she was sick for nearly an hour as he fed her water and acetaminophen. She woke up the next morning on the couch, and Knight was packing up the last of his things, messily folding clothes into boxes.

"Knight?" Her mouth was dry and her head pounded as she eased herself from the pillow. "Oh, what happened?"

And then she remembered. She remembered everything that mattered, and she was mortified.

Knight handed her a tall glass of water. "You missed curfew, that's for sure," he said, smiling. "But don't worry, I've got you covered on the home front. If they ask, the story is you fell asleep while watching a movie. If they ask what movie, tell them you were too drunk to remember. I mean, no. Better idea, tell them it was a documentary on crazy frat parties… oh, no that still sounds bad, doesn't it…?"

She lifted her hand to silence him, not laughing, or even smiling. "Knight. What happened last night… what I did… God, I'm so embarrassed. I don't know what came over me…"

The smile abruptly vanished from his face, and an awkward beat passed as he looked away. Perhaps he hadn't expected her to remember. "Oh, hey. Rorie, it's okay. Don't worry about it," he said with a shrug. Then he grinned and nudged her shoulder. "If a squiddie gets me on my first mission, I can at least die a happy man, right?"

"Oh, don't say that!" she scolded, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him into a tight hug. "Don't even joke about that."

"Okay. I won't." And he hugged her back fiercely. "Thank you, Rorie," he said to her. "I wouldn't have made it without you."

It was so sincere, so heartfelt, she nearly cried. "Well, just save a spot for me, right?" she chuckled. "I'm on my way."

And then he turned serious with her. It was one of his rare serious moments, where he spoke in a voice that most people didn't know he had. "You should switch programs," he said. "Restart in the biological sciences curriculum. You're good at it, Rorie. You're really good."

"Oh, Knight. My mother-"

"Will get over it."

"I just have two years to go."

"And then what? A position as an operator?" He shook his head. "You're a damn good operator, the best one I've ever had, but I just don't see it. You weren't meant to work in the background. You were meant to stand in the spotlight."

"Like my Dad?" At this point she was teasing him.

"No. Like you. And that's my point. The Neb isn't where you belong. Not in your parents' shadows. I know you, Rorie. And I know that's not where you want to be…"

Two years later, as Rorie paced outside her apartment door with all the wrong books in her arms, she feared that she was just as transparent now as she had been then. Knight had always seen her more clearly than she saw herself, had always been several steps ahead of her. At least, when it came to the things that really mattered.

Did he know how she was feeling that very moment? Could he sense her passion and angst through the thick steel that separated them? The possibility horrified her. And this time, she had nowhere to turn, no best friend to guide her. She was veritably torn; it was a physical pain in her heart, as half wanted desperately to run to him, to lean on him, to trust him, and the other half recoiled in terror. In the end, Rorie valued the friendship above all else, and did the only thing that was certain to preserve their relationship.

She ran.

Note: my reference to"Kes and Kiana" - this is my way of giving props to another Daughter of The One writer, the very talented ChiaraStorm (see her work, Awakening). Update soon!