Chapter Three: Blood Brothers

Imagine if you will a typical day in your life. Think of all the many interactions and incidents you experience in the span of twenty-four hours. Now think about the emotional response brought on by these incidents. Something may bring you joy, something else may make you sad. Although there is some argument on the subject, engage a group of academics on a subject and you're bound to get disagreement, many scientists will vouch that there are seven primary emotions experienced by humans: contempt, anger, surprise, disgust, happiness, fear, and sadness. They pinpoint these basic emotions because they all have certain associated facial expressions. But within these emotions run the gamut of related emotions, all subjective experiences, entirely dependent on the personality of the person involved. While one person may describe something as making her "happy," someone else may feel "exhilarated," still another merely "content." All of these emotions shape and define your day.

And what a day you can have. Between your primary, secondary, and tertiary emotions, from the time you wake until the time you sleep, you have the possibility of experiencing at least 100 different emotional responses. These responses can be as simple as the peace brought on by inhaling the pleasant aroma of a freshly-brewed cup of coffee or as complex as the rage, helplessness, and fear experienced after an intense disagreement with a loved one. Even if you choose to spend the entire day camped out in your pajamas snuggled under the covers with a good book, chances are that book and your surroundings will provide a full range of emotions as a day spent out in the sun.

Now imagine that you have no idea if these emotions are your own, that you have no idea if you feel affection for something or in actuality you don't care. For the Paoli twins, this is the sum of their existence. Since the time of their birth, they have gone about their lives experiencing it as two. At first their connection was a comfort. Their mother was amazed at how the brothers could pacify each other just by sleeping in the same crib. She then grew concerned after a ten month old Thomas rolled off her bed, but it was the ten month old Alexandre who shrieked in surprise and pain. It happened more often; the brothers never expressed their own physical discomfort. It was always a manifestation of what had happened to the other. A mother's worry led to questions, and the questions drew unwanted scrutiny. Superstitions set in. She began to distance herself, withdrawing from sons she saw as monsters and demons. By age five, the brothers learned that parental love would never be theirs – their father having never played a part in their lives. They became the outcasts of their village, always the object of mistrust and apprehension. They retreated into themselves, solidifying their bond to the exclusion of all else.

By the age of twelve, the twins had enough and set off on their own. Before they could interact with the rest of the world, they knew they had to manage their interactions with each other. Thus began a grueling process of controlling their emotions and learning to distinguish one's from the other's. One brother would go days without food to know his own hunger while his brother dined to excess. One would become intimate with the local prostitute while the other remained celibate, tempering the passions exploding in his body. They also taught themselves to communicate silently, to think a thought that only the other would hear. They perfected their unique manner of speaking, finishing a sentence, completing a thought, always keeping the enemy on its toes.

For that's how they saw the world; it was an enemy to be conquered. There was no love outside of what they could provide each other. Their mother, in denying them love, left them with something much worse in its stead – they believed her, they knew they were monsters. As monsters, the rules and morals that governed everyone else didn't apply to them. They had their own code, brotherhood above everything. Nothing would come between the brothers. At the age of sixteen, they felt ready and headed for Africa. They renamed themselves, Tomax and Xamot. They would be monsters on their own terms.

And they were. They lived by their code, taking on the world one acquisition at a time. Thieving and marauding led to the more elegant pursuits of corporate espionage and take-overs. On the field they were strong; in the board room they were invincible. They aspired higher.

But their dependence on each other came with a price. Although they were loath to admit, living the emotions of the other twin took its toll. At varying points in time, each desired to break free from their self-constructed prison, to live separate and apart, to be his own person. A twin would wake up with the other gone, knowing it was going to happen, but nevertheless surprised when it did. The twin left behind felt all the relief of the escaped, while the escaped felt the grief of the one left behind. They could never manage that way for long and always came back to each other. It was hard for them, hard for Tomax, harder still for Xamot. As the eldest, Tomax saw himself as Xamot's protector. No matter what happened, Tomax had his defined role. Xamot would be left floundering. And then Michelle happened.

Michelle was a classmate of Tomax's in law school. In order to conquer the last frontier of the business world, the brothers decided that they needed the diplomas to hang on the wall to give legitimacy to the knowledge they already possessed. Xamot chose business school and Tomax the study of law. Reverting to their birth names, they planned to keep their heads down and graduate at the top of their class. With their focus, nothing would stand their way. Despite every intention to stick to the game plan, Tomax looked up, he dared to dream. Michelle, with her long thick hair and infectious laugh, captured Tomax's imagination. She became his respite from the building storm. He felt as if he'd always been in a place of darkness and hers was a glow that might set him free. The code of brotherhood slowly crumbled, something new taking its place.

As Tomax found a purpose outside of the brothers, Xamot spiraled into despair, watching Tomax drift away. It was worse than the times before. The times before were something each brother could share. This was something Tomax couldn't share. Xamot became witness to his replacement. It was a horrible view. The training of their youth couldn't have prepared Xamot to experience the onslaught of true love. Physical desire was easy to ignore; this new thing was not. Xamot wanted it for himself. He desired Michelle with a fervor he knew not to be his. Yet he had to have her if not for himself but then to stick the dagger into Tomax and end the madness. Love not your own can drive you mad.

Xamot's misery was not isolated for Tomax experienced his own. Just as Xamot experienced love not his, Tomax bore the burden of Xamot's desolation. In love, Tomax was truly miserable. Tomax longed to comfort his brother all the while torturing himself over his lack of guilt for leaving Xamot behind. Such twisted emotions would be impossible for anyone to handle, let alone those connected in such a way as the brothers were. The agony and ecstasy swirled and tumbled inside the twins until a breaking point was reached. Xamot made a move to end it. Their code was broken in a most horrific way. Tomax extracted his revenge and walked away. He had a new life to think about. He was going to be a father.

It couldn't last. Tomax could never truly walk away. Xamot was a cry in his head he couldn't shut out. A choice had to be made, Michelle or Xamot. Tomax walked away from the only pure love he had ever known because there never really was a choice. Monsters are monsters, brotherhood.

He was wrong though, he isn't a monster. Only the purest of motives could have made him leave. When Michelle was threatened later on by the Commander, Tomax took it upon himself to save her. Not for him, but for Michelle, so that she could have the life he thought she deserved, even if that life would be without him. He was selfless. He lost his connection with his brother over it, or so he thought. He reached out to the Joes and we responded. After he explained to me what had happened, having that glimpse of Tomax's suffering, I would do anything to help him save Michelle. Once I decided, in that moment of choosing, we got mixed up somehow. Tomax was struggling and I must have been the closest thing he had with his brother gone. Suddenly, I knew exactly what it was like to be them. I connected with Tomax and bonded with him the way he was bound to his brother. I lived Tomax's emotions and surely he lived mine.

It began with dreams, dreams filled with such intensity and unfamiliarity. They were not the substance of my subconscious. My head swam with images I had never known, of sunrises over a Mediterranean sea and darkness spent hidden in an abandoned shed, willing my body to be my own. It wasn't though; I was sharing it. Never having known such intimacy before, I feared I was breaking. Reality seemed so far away. The days floated by in a sleepless haze. Always I fought to maintain control, to not sleep. I kept a rock in my pocket to squeeze if I felt like I might drift away.

Then it invaded my daytime. Not always, but at random points I would be hit with a thought or feeling unconnected to my surroundings. I tried to explain it to Flint. He tried to understand, but I knew he couldn't, not fully. He'd always made light of Tomax and Xamot, happily thinking of their situation as a sort of two for one. Hit one brother and you made an automatic impression on the other. What could be better than that? I'd always felt a little sad for them. What kind of life could it have been? I never spoke a word of those thoughts to Flint. Surely he'd laugh and tease me that I was going soft on the enemy. I'm not soft. Not like that. It's just that I could believe that the twins were trapped by a circumstance over which they had no control. I knew what it was like to be trapped. I tried to get by. It was taking its wear.

Flint urged me to speak to Psyche-Out. I didn't. I already had one person in my head and didn't need another. It would have added more complication to an already impossibly complex situation. You see, there were things I held back from Flint. There were things I couldn't tell him. Some of the emotions flowing through me he'd never survive. Some involved an intense hatred of him. We could be alone together, maybe watching television in the rec room. He'd reach over and drape an arm across my shoulders, drawing me close. Suddenly the thought of him touching me, of even being in the same room, repulsed me. I wanted to wipe his touch away and flee. I had to fight it even though my stomach turned with the effort. I knew that if I could just hold out, the feeling would pass. I could never share this with Flint. No one should ever know that.

Then there was one time when things got out of hand. I hadn't seen Flint for two weeks. He was sent out on a mission to some god forsaken place with little chance of success. It was one of those utterly classified affairs where, being denied the basic of facts, your mind runs all the far-fetched scenarios to their conclusions until all you're left with is the worst possible outcome. Missions like these come with our job. I don't like the risk, but I'd never ask him to say no. I try to accept that the man I love has the ability to do so much good, and focus on that. I was having a hard time focusing on the positives this time. I was a mess, unsure if I was scared because I was scared that Flint wouldn't come back, or if somewhere out there Tomax was scared that he would come back. Flint had been my lodestone through it all and being away from him left me adrift, compounding my misery.

Halfway through the week there was chatter that the mission had gone south. All contact with Flint's team was cut. Command feared the team had been compromised. I never paced as much as I did those last few days. I couldn't eat, I couldn't sleep. I could feel Tomax willing strength to me. I was zapping his. Scarlett tried to reassure. She meant well; she couldn't know what was really going on in my head. No one did.

Then word came through that the team was ok. Flint was coming home. I didn't care how late they arrived, I waited. The sight of the helicopter hovering low against the dark desert sky before its final descent broke whatever resolve I had to act cool. The moment Flint trudged down the ramp and his boots hit the hard concrete, I bolted for him. It was late and most had already gone to bed. I figured Hawk would look away that once. He'd been worried too.

I followed Flint back to his quarters, relieved if not a little lost. There would be no debriefing tonight or tomorrow morning. Hawk knew what his men had suffered and gave them a reprieve. Rest now, consequences later. For the first time in a long time we were exempt from the base's constant ticking clock. Flint locked his door, his nerves betrayed by the slight tremor in his hand. This was new ground for us. It was a brazen act for me to be in his room that late without any pretense. No one was going to tell him no. And no sooner had Flint's duffle bag dropped to the floor then his hands found something else to hold, crushing me in a needful embrace. I took hungrily from his mouth, willing my body to meld into his. He kissed my tears, comforting me with words he needn't say. I tried to be gentle; he had gone through so much. We collapsed onto the bed, kicking off boots and stripping away clothes. It was just us. It was our passion and our love.

Then it wasn't.

As Flint traced the contours of my body, it felt like a million suns burning my skin. Our joining caused such extreme pleasure to pulse through me, wave after endless wave. It was unnatural and frightening, but I had to have more. It couldn't stop. Never had things felt like that before. Every touch was electric and every sensation greater than the one before. My brain pounded with the blood raging through my body. Things shouldn't feel like that. A person should die. I had to have made another connection. I had Flint, and Tomax had someone too. I cried out in horror, but I was in thrall with the ecstasy. Tomax and I were feeding off of each other. Knowing that, I should have stopped it; I wasn't strong enough. Flint glowed serene at the end, dropping into a needful sleep. I cried, ashamed. I couldn't live like that anymore.

Tomax surely picked up on that for he took a drastic step to sever our connection. He went to Dr. Mindbender. Xamot had gone to Dr. Mindbender to remove any of the impact Michelle had on him. Xamot had all of those memories erased and urged Tomax to do the same. Tomax resisted. I think to save me Tomax willingly gave himself to Mindbender. It meant that Tomax abandoned any hope we had that he would be his own person. Once Tomax was back in the fold, it eliminated me. There could only be two. It was Tomax's second act.

Being suddenly cut-off from Tomax had its own consequences. Having been so tied to him, it was a complete shock to my system to be free. It wasn't that I wanted to remain connected to Tomax – quite the contrary, I wanted to be free – it was hard to adjust to the sound of absence in my head. My thoughts felt so cold and hollow. The moment it was only me, I went into hysterics. That was the one thing I couldn't hide from Flint. Flint let himself in and stayed with me through the night, never questioning, just being. It was finally over.

And here it was again, I could feel Tomax as part of my thoughts. I felt desperate, but I think it was his desperation. The thought filled me until my heart was racing and my hands shook. My glass fell to the ground, the whisky soaking into the cream carpet. I felt a moment of irritation that I'd have to clean the carpet again.

That broke the hold and I used it to push back and pull away from Tomax, skittering to the end of the coach. He was still in my head, though not as strong. I tried to use it to my advantage, summoning my rage. "What are you doing!" I was glad when he winced and rubbed at his temples.

"It's the only way to know." He was struggling; he held his hand out, palm facing up.

I shook my head. I wasn't going through this again, no way, no how.

"Please, as friends." He stood up, and moved over, taking a seat on the ottoman in front of me.

"We're not . . ."

"I know." His words were sharp, cutting me off midsentence. "We can help each other though. You can read my thoughts. I mean you no harm."

It was true, he had me there. All I picked up from him was renewed desperation and fear, fear that this, whatever it was, wouldn't work. It was a desperate move for a desperate hour.

He reached his hands out in front of him, palms up. "Please take my hands."

Taking a gulp, I bit my bottom lip, weighing my meager options. If I left, I didn't know if we'd remain this way, connected. How would that impact my life? Could I survive it again? I knew I couldn't. Then a side thought crept in, could I keep the blazer?

You can't.

Ouch! His thought stung as he rolled his eyes. I shrugged. It was a relevant question. I wasn't getting out of here with what was left of my Maid Brigade get-up. All I got in response to that thought was an exasperated snort. I continued my silent deliberations. His turmoil, that was real. This was important to him. Enough that he did this all knowing the large risk that his brother would find out. That thought was surprising, Xamot didn't know. And the risk that the Joes wouldn't cooperate or that we still had things left up our sleeve to take him down. Tomax planned as carefully as he could with what he had. He was looking to me now. I was all he had left.

And then it dawned on me. I really was the closest thing he had to a friend. His lifestyle, his connection with Xamot, had denied him much over the years. Michelle was but a fraction of all he would never have. Yes, he made his own choices, but I don't think they were always so selfish. It wouldn't take much for me to grant him this one act of kindness. So I did it, I reached over and grabbed his hands, closing my eyes.

I opened them and Tomax and I were standing in Hawk's filing room. It was just off to the right from Hawk's personal conference room and was filled top to bottom with stacked filing cabinets. Hawk and I are the only ones with the keys. All of Hawk's active files were there. Damn, I was just played.

"No you weren't." Tomax left my side and began to open some of the drawers, riffling through meticulously maintained manila file folders.

This wasn't right. Hawk's files, no matter how hard I tried, were never this orderly. Hawk was old school and just shoved things in open spaces. I probably got stuck with the "clerk" job designation because I was the only one who could make any order out of Hawk's jumble of papers and notepads. These organized files were not Hawk's. I took a few steps forward and stood behind Tomax. The drawer he was rummaging through was labeled "Gum." Tomax flipped through a few files, muttering to himself. I stepped away from him and ran my hand up the front of a cabinet. Each drawer was labeled in neat, clean script. One drawer was labeled "Skeletons in the Closet" another was labeled "Dickens." One was labeled "Jimmy" and it went on across three rows. I knew that writing. It was mine. We were in my head.

Tomax was on a mission and whatever he needed was in my head. If that was the case then why didn't he . . .

Tomax closed another drawer. "Because I can't get the information from asking you. It has to be like this." He turned back to his work, opening and closing drawers, glancing at folders, moving frantically. His pace was giving me a fit. I willed him to be calm, to take a breath. He waved a dismissive hand at me. There was no time. Two hours wasn't enough.

And then he found it, several feet down the row, he kneeled in front of a bottom drawer, fingers caressing the front of a file. I joined him. The drawer was "Harthaven." The folder he pulled out was marked "Reunion" and was crisp and unblemished, relatively new.

"This one, I need this one." He handed it over. "I shouldn't open it. It will mess with your memories."

I took it in my hands and opened it. Memories spilled out. I closed my eyes against the rush, opening them again to the smells of sea salt and a clam bake. Turning around, the sky was bright blue with fluffy clouds floating on an invisible breeze. It was a warm day, but the air was sharp with the ocean, hinting at the crisp evening to come. I slowly turned, taking in the scene of Harts, young and old, taking up every possible space, the chatter of their voices blending into a soft din. I glanced over at Tomax standing next to me. "Is this right?"

"I think so."

Good. Harthaven. The Vineyard. We were home.