The Keiran station had been abandoned for months. It whispered along in standby mode, its dormant field chambers drawing little power and less attention. The researchers who worked in the dome pretended the situation was temporary, as though the station's owner had merely gone on sabbatical and expected to return any day now.

He made his way past the darkened consoles to the far side of the field chambers, where the small student lab station looked out on the rest of the dome. A solitary figure was seated by the overlook, knees to chest and as still as the shadows in the lab.

His heart went out to her as he paused a discrete distance away, watching silently for a moment. She hadn't asked for this. None of them had, if it came to that, but she hadn't grown up with it the way he had. She alone, of all the Rangers, was the first in her family to hold the Power.

She wouldn't want his pity, but he couldn't help thinking that it was unfair. After so many years of peace on Aquitar, the League had picked now to go to war. Untested and largely uncounseled, she found herself in the midst of a situation that would have been unfathomable only a generation before.

"I suppose Cestria sent you." She didn't move, but she had obviously heard him approach.

"No," he answered, moving closer until her view was his. The dome was quiet this late, and the others labs were as dark as hers. "I came of my own accord."

She said nothing for a moment, her gaze fixed on something he couldn't see. Finally, she asked, "What do you want?"

His fingers clenched around her communicator, but he kept his voice level as he held it out to her. "This belongs to you."

"No," she said, glancing over at it dismissively before returning to her contemplation of the research dome. "I don't think it does."

"You're wrong," he told her. "Delphine's Power chose you; you can't change that."

"I can refuse it," she said calmly. "I refuse her choice. If the team doesn't want me to lead, then I won't."

"No one said we don't want you to lead." He tried to sound neutral rather than condescending, but she would probably hear it whether it was there or not. "Cestria was only questioning the way you are going about it. That's the Second's job; she's supposed to present an alternate viewpoint."

"If her view is representative, then I would be foolish to ignore her."

"You would be foolish to ignore her in any case," he said, more sharply than he had intended. "Cestria does not speak only to hear the sound of her voice."

She kept her gaze fixed on some distant point on the other side of the dome. "You think she's right."

"I think she didn't say what she said lightly," he corrected. He felt the sharp edges of her communicator dig into his palm as he tried to repress his instinctive reaction to her hurt tone. "I know she didn't mean for you to quit because of it."

She didn't answer.

"You don't make this easy," he muttered, not knowing what else to say to her. "What is it that you're waiting to hear?"

Her shoulders stiffened, and he knew he had offended her with his careless words. "I'm still waiting for you to tell me what you want," she replied coldly.

"I want you to put aside your pride!" The words were out before he could stop them. How much simpler would things be if she could be just a little less stubborn every once in a while? "For once, try to think of the team first."

"Put aside my pride," she mused, her voice unusually quiet.

Expecting a more abrasive response, he was caught off guard by the thoughtful echo of his remark. He frowned warily. "It's not so much to ask."

"Look around you, Delphinius," she said, her voice tinged with disbelief. "Do you even remember this station?"

His eyes flickered toward her. Though he often tried not to, he remembered. The memories came despite his best efforts, and he remembered the days when this lab could be lit at any hour of the day or night. He remembered her laughter echoing off the walls, and he remembered chasing her around the field chambers with no thought in his head but what he would do when he caught her.

He remembered how the doors could be locked from the inside, and how the windows could be darkened until they were opaque. "Of course I do," he muttered. She wasn't paying attention, and he let his gaze linger for a moment on her shadowy figure. "It wasn't that long ago."

"It was another lifetime," she answered emphatically. "I gave this up to be a Ranger. I gave up my friends, my work... you... everything that mattered. And still you ask more."

"Did you give me up?" he couldn't help asking. "Is that what happened?"

She didn't look up. "Still you ask more," she repeated softly, as though he hadn't spoken. "When does what I've already given become enough, Delphinius? When do I *stop* thinking of the team first?"

He sighed, staring down at the device in his hand. There was no answer he could give that would satisfy her. He wasn't sure he had one that he was satisfied with anymore. "Please," he said quietly, offering the communicator to her again. "Just take this back."

She finally turned her head and looked up at him. With the meager light behind her, he couldn't see her expression at all. "Why?" she asked, her tone as unreadable as her face.

"Because," he said, frustrated. He tried to push the feeling aside, aware that the one word wasn't enough. Kneeling down beside her, he sought an answer that would mean something. "Because," he repeated, "a thousand years ago, Ninjor gave five people the power to defend this world."

He hesitated only a moment, wishing he could see her eyes in the dimness. "Because that power still exists. And because it still takes five people to wield it. Like it or not, you're one of those five, and we need you."

"To make up the number," she murmured.

"No," he said fiercely. "We need *you*, because you're strong and passionate and you never give up. You were never just the fifth member; I thought you knew that!"

She didn't answer, didn't move, even, and he was embarrassed by his own vehemence. She had gotten to him. He'd been watching for it and she had still gotten to him. Of course she knew that; Cetaci wasn't one to be self-conscious. She had only said it to provoke him--and it had worked, if not in quite the way she must have anticipated.

To his surprise, she reached out to him hesitantly and he felt her fingers brush his free hand. He still couldn't see her expression in the darkened lab, but the touch was all he needed. "Thank you," she said softly.

He swallowed, turning his hand over to catch hers before she could pull away. Without a word, he placed her communicator in her hand. He felt her slowly curl her fingers around it, and he tried not to sigh as she took the communicator from him and slid it back onto her wrist.

He had once told a friend that he would do whatever it took to keep her. He wished he had known then how complicated that vow would become.