She sat up with a gasp, her heart racing as she stared blindly into the night.

The darkness stared back at her. Faint outlines shimmered dimly across the barely visible walls. Nothing else moved, and there was no sound but that of her own breathing and the rush of blood pounding in her ears.

"Damn him," she whispered, squeezing her eyes shut. The lingering tendrils of thought solidified and strengthened, drawing her back toward a dream he wouldn't like to admit to anymore, and her eyes snapped open again. "Damn you, Delphinius!"

It wasn't the first time this had happened. Her telepathy might never have manifested itself if it hadn't been for him and his damnable Ranger genes, but ever since it had they hadn't been able to keep from sharing the occasional dream. Not that they had tried to stop it, at first.

*We liked it, then,* she thought, staring intently at the wall in front of her. She would not close her eyes again. They had thought then that it was harmless--even fun.

And it had been, she admitted, if only to herself now. If she hadn't already been so warm, she might have flushed at some of those memories. Back then, telepathy was just a game--a dangerous one for her, maybe, but he was Ranger kin. As long as they didn't flaunt it, no one had seemed inclined to make trouble.

The first time it had happened, neither of them had realized it until they woke up in each other's arms the next morning. "I dreamed about you," were the first words out of their mouths.

After that, though, they had started to recognize the dreams before they were over, began to learn what it was like to see another person looking out at you from inside your own dream. They began to notice the signs of shared unconsciousness and make the best of it, to her delight as well as his.

It was a delight that had turned to chagrin days after their first unresolved arguments about the Rangers. The dream had been his that time, and she had been too annoyed with him to acknowledge it. That night she had thought, in some distant part of her brain, that they would laugh about this when they finally made up.

They hadn't laughed about it yet, and the infrequent dreams showed no sign of stopping. The second dream had found the two of them even more at odds, and she had stormed into his room to confront him over it. That "confrontation" had led to her waking up in his bed alone the next morning, without a note or any hint of acknowledgement.

The same basic scenario had repeated itself twice in the interim, though she hadn't allowed herself to fall asleep again. Usually the dream was his; once it had been hers; and each time she knew in the back of her mind what would happen when she went to his door. But she always did, and for days afterward they would have to do their level best to pretend it hadn't happened. Until the next time.

"No 'next time'," she muttered, glaring down at her hands. She gave them a shake, clenching her fingers briefly. "This is stupid."

She wasn't going to go running to him just because she was restless. Even if it was his fault. Even if his damn dream had dredged up feelings they spent most of their time trying to deny. Even if he was probably huddled in his bed right now, shaking from reaction but too proud to do anything about it.

She swore quietly, clenching her fists again. Being able to recognize the dreams meant that they could wake themselves, and she hadn't yet failed to jerk herself out of one as soon as she realized what was happening. But she knew it hurt him when she did. The backlash burned his mind, making him twice as vulnerable and yet no more likely to ask for help.

She was too proud to let anyone train her, and he was too proud to complain. She shook her head in disgust, knowing his friend had been right about the two of them--they were too much alike.

"I hate you," she whispered half-heartedly, pushing the covers aside. She stumbled out of bed, tugging her lace-up tunic tighter around her in an effort to keep the warmth in as she made her way toward the door. She couldn't let him suffer because of her.

She hesitated just long enough to make sure there was no one in the hallway before she stepped out into it. His room was directly across from hers, and she felt the familiar flicker of doubt as she touched the keypad. Each time she came, it was an open question as to whether or not her code would still open the door.

It did. His would open hers as well, but to her knowledge he had no reason to know that.

The room was dimmer than the corridor, but not quite as dark as hers. She could just make out his shadowed form against the wall's faint luminescence, and her heart skipped a beat. He was doubled over, head down and both arms wrapped around one knee. His posture practically screamed "pain", and she swallowed hard.

She hugged her arms closer and made her way quietly over to him. He didn't move, didn't acknowledge her in any way, but she knew he knew she was there. She sat down beside him on the bed, reaching out gingerly to touch his forehead

Anguish lanced through her head the moment she touched his skin, and she couldn't keep from crying out. He flinched, pushing her away, and she shoved him back harder than she'd intended. She laid her hand across his forehead again, holding him down and gritting her teeth against the shared pain.

She was no healer, despite the fact that most civilian telepaths on Aquitar entered the medical profession. It was the only place they were truly accepted--but she had been a scientist by both training and desire, and she had refused to give that up. Nonetheless, she understood enough about their bond to know how to soothe what she had already done.

Her mind crept back into his, pressing gently against the places that had been scraped raw when she tore away from him. She felt him tremble a little, but she couldn't tell if it was an instinctive reaction to what she was doing or something else.

"Why didn't you *say* something," she muttered at last, angry with herself for causing this and with him for hiding it. It had never been this bad before.

His eyes slid open and he caught her hand as she started to withdraw it. "Because I knew you'd come," he whispered, staring up at her.

She curled her fingers into a fist and punched him in the chest. "I hate--"

"You hate me, I know," he murmured, pulling her other hand closer to him and ignoring the half-hearted blow. He spread her fingers and ran his thumb gently across her palm. "Don't talk. Just close your eyes."

She hesitated, gaze drawn irresistibly toward their joined hands. "But..."

He slid his fingers over the back of her hand, still tracing the lines on her palm with his thumb, and she caught her breath. His skin was warm against hers as he took her other hand and pulled her closer, and she only resisted a moment when he tugged her down beside him on the bed.

"Ci," he whispered, tugging the laces of her tunic free. "Don't leave this time."

She swallowed, trying not to think past the sensation and the warmth that he brought so easily to her awareness. But he spoke again, and she had to listen. "Be here when I wake up," he murmured.

She didn't answer, and he didn't ask again. For a little while, though, she let herself pretend. She pretended that this was all that mattered, and that this moment would never end. She let herself get lost in the feeling of his hands on her body, and she closed her eyes on the rest of the world.