A/N: Remember when I said this would be split into six chapters? Well, I can't seem to make them shorter, so quite possibly every sense will be divided into two parts.
For all of you that came here because I rated this M, bear with me, and you will be rewarded. I like to build up the tension before getting to the good stuff.
And to all of you who have been reviewing and "favourite-ing" this fic: THANK YOU OMG. I so, so, so LOVE you. I told you reviews were my favourite brand of drug, so keep giving them to me! Tell me where you see this going, I'd love to read that!
Disclaimer: I don't own Lost Girl; I'm merely borrowing its world and changing it up to suit my fantasies.
2: First Sense: Sight – Part One
Never before has he lost his grip on reality the way he's losing it now. Of course, he doesn't realise it, doesn't even question it yet. The world blurs at the edges, and the centre of his entire universe becomes her.
The raven haired girl with the huge heart.
Her eyelids flutter quickly, the sound of her tired sighs the only thing he can hear. He's still got his hand over her skin, his thumb moving about distractedly, trying to shift her thoughts away from the horrors of her mind.
He does not even need to speak; it is as if an unspoken bond has been built between the two: She looks up at him a last time, her eyes as big as ever and a question burning behind them. Of course he knows what's on her mind; he knows what's frightening her and what she's asking him.
Once upon a time she'd asked him to stay beside her, convinced she was living the final hours of her short life after having ingested a rather poisonous, but not at all unpleasant, bowl of foot soup. Back then, he'd promised her he'd stay. He wonders now how on earth he could have been so selfish as to break that promise.
But he won't break his promise now.
He flicks his thumb over her cheek once, twice, the corners of his mouth moving upwards in recognition. His eyes try to convey everything he's thinking, and he knows she's understood him when, at last, she gives him a final smile and lets the weight of her head fall completely over his open palm.
He stays like this, with her sleeping beside him, no nightmares haunting her, for what seems like hours, but in reality are no more than five minutes. He is trying to commit to memory every little detail of her body, and, by extension, of her character. If only he were an artist, he'd paint her over and over again, in every possible style he could imagine.
But, alas, he is just Dyson. Wolf-man Dyson. Hard headed, millennia old, loving Dyson.
He cannot stop wondering if all of that will be enough.
He will have to do something about it. She needs so much more than what he can give her, that he'll make the effort if he has to. Whatever it takes, he will protect her against anything and everything. He can feel the fury of this statement build up inside him like nothing he's ever experienced before.
With nothing else to do, he has started counting: He counts her eyelashes, the time between her heartbeats and her breaths, the tiny, almost non-existent freckles that cover the skin over her neck, her collarbone, the top of her breasts. He could stay here forever if she did.
He picks up one of her hands and brings it up for inspection. Her fingers, like the rest of her, are slender things, almost metres long. At the thought, he laughs aloud. That is a silly thought, indeed, to think that fingers could be metres long. But hers do seem like it.
Only once he's seen her play the drums. Now he can't stop but wonder if she could play the piano, too. Her hands seem made for it.
The enamel on her nails has been chipped off in places, no doubt from her fruitless attempts to escape the cave she was trapped in. His own fingers tighten on hers (making sure not to break her delicate bones) and a low growl rolls in his chest as he spots the now almost-gone rash on her arm and remembers the fox that had kidnapped her.
He still cannot wrap his head around the idea of having been fooled like that by that foul creature. Not even Tamsin's part in playing with his head can take away the self-loathing that's engulfing him. It had looked so much like his Kenzi, smelled like her even, that he hadn't even wanted to hear what Bo was screaming at all of them.
Of course Bo would know it wasn't her. But weren't you supposed to believe everything the person you think you love with your entire being is telling you?
He's had his love back for a while now, but sometimes it's like he doesn't even care all that much.
He should have known, he thinks. He should have noticed the changes between the fox and Kenzi, should have seen the deception in the way the impostor acted around him. But he chose not to.
He remembers now how her body had felt as he'd walked to her from behind, how inviting it had been, how delicious it had smelled. Like a moth to a flame, he had been trapped by her spell, and consciously at that.
She had looked over her shoulder at him, with her stolen eyes, and given him a look that he hadn't known he had been waiting to see on her face. And so he'd stayed beside the fox, curious about where that may lead, what it all meant. Never wondering what was really next to him, or where his real Kenzi was being kept.
And then she'd turned around, circling his too-big-for-her waist with her thin, breakable arms, driving him into an even deeper state of confusion. He had thought about Bo in the cellar, but in a strange way. No longer worried about how this would look if she saw them, he'd started wondering if she had already let him go forever, and if maybe it was time for him to do the same with her.
As if there is still a part of his heart linked to her, his senses pick up on the woman currently walking down the steps, each one of them resonating inside his mind like gongs going off in an enclosed space. There is the fog again, that blurriness Tamsin's spell had cast on him before. He'd thought it had dissipated, but like with so many things today, he cannot possibly be sure of himself anymore.
His eyes find Kenzi's face again, and stay there as the others find their way towards them over the sofa. She hasn't moved an inch, so tired her body must be, but he hasn't either, so as not to disturb her. It's nothing to him, either way. The warmth of her skin on his is a reassurance of her safety. It calms him, inside.
He's aware of Bo and Trick standing behind him: Their scents have always been strong. But he can't help compare those memories to how he's sensing them now. How they pale beside Kenzi's stronger presence.
There was a time when he would have removed his hand as carefully as he could, and walked away before anyone got the chance to ask him things he was not quite ready to respond truthfully. The mere thought of leaving the woman on his arms, now, feels worse than any treacherous bite from someone he'd considered a friend.
Thankfully, he's not ordered to leave. No one says anything; they don't want to disturb Kenzi's dreams with nonsensical questions about her wellbeing. The previously empty place at her feet is occupied by Bo, who looks at her as tenderly as she would a blood sister, or even a daughter.
Bo's hand caresses the human's legs, a smile always present on her face. Suddenly, Dyson must remember who she is and what his place in all of this is as well, because in that instant he feels like ripping Bo's hand off her arm.
Kenzi's arms rest over the blanket, out for anyone to see her recurring injury. Bo's face twists unpleasantly as she picks up Kenzi's arm, and Dyson is left wondering if she could possibly be feeling the same as he.
Surely, she can't, or at least, not as strongly as him. Again, the memory of Bo claiming Kenzi as hers threatens to make Dyson want to lash out at his former lover. In a brief second of clarity, he notices how clouded his judgement has become, because he knows that wouldn't be a wise thing to do. But he can't help himself from imagining what he would do to anyone who called his Kenzi theirs.
Out of nowhere (and this really scares him, for he's seldom surprised like this), Lauren steps into his line of vision, to touch the rash on Kenzi's arm. A frown larger than Bo crosses her face. Dyson has to supress the urge to seize her and demand to know what's wrong.
But, just as easily as it appeared, her frown straightens as Lauren exhales loudly. Making a colossal effort, Dyson waits for her diagnosis.
"It's okay, Bo," she says with a small smile. It has the intended effect, calming both Bo and Dyson. "Patients can sometimes have a small allergic reaction to the sedative I administered. And considering the intense essence that fell on Kenzi's arm, this was bound to happen. It's just a mirage of what it was, and I'm sure it'll be completely gone in a few hours."
Two almost identical sighs of relief escape Bo and Dyson's lips. He cannot see the quizzical look on her face, so intent he is on making sure Kenzi's still breathing, but it's there nonetheless. And it's jumping on to Trick's and Lauren's expressions as well.
The three of them know how much Dyson cares for Kenzi, how he always manages to do things for her, even if she never finds them out. They've seen him watch over her on those nights when the feeling of darkness and loneliness overwhelms her.
That feeling that screams at her that she's an outsider in this world sometimes becomes too much for her to bear, and she feels she has no alternative but to go to the Dal and steal liquor from Trick's top shelf (thievery that Trick pretends never to be aware of), and to piss herself to the point of no return.
On said nights, a short, to-the-point text message is delivered to Bo's mobile phone, where he lets her know that she needn't worry about their little friend. After lying awake for some time (because, really, she cannot help but worry), Bo tells herself that Kenzi could be nowhere better than at Dyson's, and she finally falls asleep.
The look of complete surrender plastered on Dyson's face right now is like nothing that has ever clouded his face before. His three friends find themselves too stunned to move, or speak.
They look from one to the other, wondering if only one of them has gone mad or if they're all seeing this right. Trick takes a step forward, making a racket as he walks (everyone knows you don't sneak up on a wolf and escape with all of your limbs). He silently wills Bo away and she quickly understands.
Taking the spot Bo just vacated by Kenzi's feet, Trick looks over at his wolf friend. Dyson doesn't even flinch. Kenzi's chosen this moment to start muttering in her sleep and she's captured Dyson's every thread of attention.
Bo has no idea what to do, but it's clear to her that there's something wrong going on here and that she has to protect her sister, before something bad happens. Before Trick can warn her, though, she's moved to take Kenzi away from Dyson. She immediately learns what a bad move this is.
Her breath is knocked out of her as Dyson flings her away, jumping up to cover Kenzi's unconscious body with his own. She stumbles, but fortunately Lauren's there to stop her from falling down.
They can all see, now, the amber glittering in his eyes; that golden colour that resembles the light of the sun so, so much.
And, naturally, Dyson can feel the shift in himself and in the air about him. The fear that is floating over him is as thick as the mist covering his mind. It takes him a couple of seconds and a glance to his old friend to realise he's the cause of their fear. Their eyes all tell him so.
He registers the position he's in. How did he come to be like this? Slowly, he wills his wolf to settle down, convincing himself that there's no danger in this room. His eyes regain their normal blue hues as he relaxes.
He blinks a few times, shakes his head. He struggles to find his voice; in the end, it's there, smaller than before, yes, but there.
"I'm sorry," he mutters, his head hung over his chest. "I didn't mean to attack you, Bo. Please forgive me."
Bo looks to Lauren for reassurance and finds it in the doc's gentle eyes. She pushes forward, kneeling beside Dyson, and carefully places her hand on his shoulder.
"I know," she says. A heavy sigh comes out of her, a sound that makes him look up at her big, brown eyes. He sees the dark bags under them, marks that remind him of her vulnerability. "We've all been through a lot today. I know you didn't mean me any harm."
As she smiles at him, he reads so many things in that gesture. The smile he returns holds as much meaning as hers.
"What do you say we take Kenzi home?" asks Dyson. "I'm sure she'd love to be in her bed, and not here sleeping on this hard sofa."
Already he's feeling his wits coming back to their, not normal (what does normal even mean?), but regular state. His need to keep Kenzi safe is still burning inside his chest, but he knows he's among people who love her too. He knows they can be trusted with her.
"Yeah, okay," says Bo, patting his shoulder.
A fine layer of dust flies out of his clothing as she does this. No doubt filth from the kitsune cave, thinks Bo. Trick, on the other hand, is already thinking of a different explanation.
Too tired to carry Kenzi's (astoundingly) still sleeping shape, Bo lets Dyson do the hard work. Her mind is not on her wolf friend's behaviour anymore, but on Tamsin and her sudden disappearance. She would have liked to thank her better, and she makes a mental note to remember to do it later, when the chance arises.
With Dyson leading the way to Bo's excuse of a car, Trick ponders in his mind about all the alternatives to the wolf's reactions. Years and years and years he's known him, and he takes pride in recognising strange symptoms in his friend. Still, he says nothing, and makes it his task to figure out what could be happening to Dyson.
Bo is a little surprised when Dyson, still carrying Kenzi, settles in her back seat without even saying a word to her. She makes no comment, though, and enters the car herself.
Ever the dedicated doctor, Lauren has some final medical recommendations, and she rests her hands on Bo's open window to tell her to give Kenzi as much liquid as possible.
Dyson is already taking notes of this. A little glimmer of thanks sparks up in him, directed at the doc. And to think he didn't even stand the sight of her before.
He can feel the car come to life as Bo revs the engine: The movements, however infinitesimal they are, reverberate in his every muscle. But he shakes the feelings away, focusing only on the sleeping woman on his lap.
His eyes travel downward to her small face. And the spell hits him with such a force that it's like someone's shot him in the chest.