Radar

[Harlequin]

The air was sharp with cold against the noses and fingers of the leather-clad youths streaming into the alley outside of Scar's basement apartment in a cloud of cigarette smoke and noise. Hands found pockets and laughter was interrupted with scattered curses as the chill bit in, but there was one among them who hadn't needed to wear a coat for anything other than aesthetic purposes for more than a year – and the scowl she wore had nothing to do with the cold, either.

At first, it hadn't really registered. Ami was so used to having her sire close at hand that she didn't notice his continued proximity when she ventured outside of Chinatown – until she began to range further out of the sarcastically-dubbed "safe zone". For a time she'd chalked it up to coincidence; they were beyond that handholding bullshit, weren't they? He trusted her. She'd earned that. But lately it had been stretching the boundaries of "coincidence".  He was everywhere she went – a block away, or maybe a whole district to change it up, but always close enough for her to feel.  To feel her. Like some kind of blood-borne GPS.

Tonight she'd decided to test her theory by way of  tearing out of Chinatown on her bike with as little notice as possible, and leading him on a merry chase through the city. And a chase is what it clearly had been, because whenever she stopped on another erroneous errand – to gas up, then visit with Vivianne, grabbing a snack at Risk, then into this scabby little basement show where she'd hoped to lose him – there he was, unseen but near enough to set her blood all a-tickle. No matter how fast she got there, or how far she'd travelled. Yeah, definitely not a coincidence.

A young man in a denim vest bumped into her shoulder, and she shoved him in return  (perhaps a little harder than she should have, judging by the way he rebounded off the opposite alley wall) before she set off through the alley and into the street, following that annoying little tickle to its source, his blood guiding her like a beacon. Goddamn sire. Goddamn Cicero.

[Trillian]

He felt her coming.

Cicero breathed in the scent of the lovely young thing he was with and sent him on his way.  The owner of the establishment made eye contact with him and he held the stare.  This was a private club, with a private fee to match - though a great deal more modest than what Venture was asking, as the building and rooms were more humble as well - and Cicero hadn't paid anything.  He was old enough to command their respect and he repaid their polite acknowledgement by not making trouble.

She was coming to him, and he could feel the spice of her anger in his veins, the taste of her salty frustration in his mind.  She would make trouble, so he rose from the cushioned bench and left the property.

He'd stopped walking by the time she roared her entrance and he waited for her to say what she needed to say, to jolt him into her reality.  She was his fresh perspective, because he'd never made any before her.  He didn't plan on making any after her either, hoping they could be successful.  He hoped to have something better than what he had with Lazarus, though he supposed he was over-bearing in a different way.  She deserved to be heard, and so he listened.  He'd found a place for her to say what needed to be said, as loudly as she wanted to say it.  He doubted she would restrain herself, but believed she shouldn't have to.  He liked her untethered manner, the confidence that being wild lent her.  She'd found herself again after she'd recovered from the shock, and what he'd thought was an indication of her fiery nature, he'd truly had no idea.  She wasn't just a free soul, she was unleashed.

[Harlequin]

It was a good place he'd found – an illegal manufactury of some kind, with rows and rows of industrial sewing machines marching away into the cavernous concrete space – and a high, high ceiling that amplified the sounds of her displeasure. From the slam of the steel door leading out to the alley, to the stomp of her boots, to the harsh bark of her voice as she laid eyes on her sire, "What the fuck?" she yelled at him, coarse as ever.

Arms flung out to her sides, rage written across her face, she had no attention to spare for their setting. Ami's vision was tunneled in on Cicero, as she advanced on him through a row of heavy machines.  She used her voice, though she knew he'd rather she speak into his mind. Hone the skills I gave you he'd say. Well, what was the point? He clearly didn't trust her enough to wield them unsupervised. "You fuckin' following me?" Liking the way the echo they made, she spat the words at him.

She let him have the salt and spice; it's not like she could stop it flooding down their bloodline. She hoped he fucking choked on it.

[Trillian]

Cicero was silent and unmoving until her second question was launched at him.  He remembered how angry he'd been when Lazarus had abandoned him to deal with his own troubles when he was young - older than Ami but not wiser.  His sire had been rubbish training him, looking out for him, and he intended not making that mistake.  This city was rank with the supernatural - there were species he could smell that were different to any others he'd come across before, and it concerned him that he didn't know how to handle such creatures.  It only made sense that he would seek sanctuary with the Kuei Jin - a demonic species he didn't trust but certainly understood.  They were predictable, in a fashion.  He'd learned how to identify their motivations.  The rest of the bunch was unknown.

"Yes," he said out loud though it was the kind of response he'd usually send her mentally.  It would detract from her outpouring, and he wanted her to experience her emotions in full, so that they could sort it out and continue on in the manner that they had.  She would always feel him nearby after all, they were in the same city.  He anticipated she would want to know why, so after watching her face change to something even more extreme at his blatant admittance, he explained.  "I've already lost you once."

[Harlequin]

She stopped about four feet away, arms crossed, foot set a-taptaptapping by his admission. She hadn't expected him to lie; there was no point, but something in hearing it said out loud caused her scowl to deepen. She fastened her eyes on his face, demanding an explanation. What she got wasn't what she'd expected.

I've already lost you once.

The words brought a vivid recollection of the night she'd died. The images didn't inspire the panic and sickness they once had – with Cicero's guidance, she'd learned to embrace her new life in place of mourning her old one. The idea of Lazarus had lost much of its power over her. Not all of it, of course – Cicero would still feel a certain amount of unease associated with the scene flashing through her mind.

Still, she'd made it up 'til that point without him, living through more than 90% of humans on the planet before she was 18. The very picture of exasperation, Ami raised her eyes to the ceiling and huffed a sigh. And she was still here, besides.

"No," she said, gentler now as she approached, though her voice was still tight and loud with irritation, "You didn't." On the nights when she'd broken the mirrors, hating what she'd become, hadn't he told her that she was the same Ami? That he'd only raised her?

[Trillian]

She'd lost her life and he'd given her a new one.  She'd remained unchanged, her vivaciousness and electric energy pouring out of her like mortality itself.  She didn't need a heartbeat for that.  Lazarus hadn't broken her - though Cicero's siring of her had risked that.  He hadn't known the creature she would become, hadn't known if she would be the same or if she would change.  He'd plunged into an unknown quantity and it had paid off, yes, but she'd been so angry, so lost at first.

But he'd been right.  She was strong.  She'd survived intact.

And so she was right.  He hadn't lost her.

He didn't know how to explain this circular understanding and realisation, so he just sent it all to her mentally, so that she would feel his perspective on the matter.

He loved her.  She was strong.  She didn't need him because she'd learned all he'd managed to teach, and even more from Jeanne.  He trusted her, but he didn't trust all-of-them.

[Harlequin]

He may have noticed a positive change in her overall demeanor during the past few weeks – she was less prone to random bouts of furniture rearranging, less snappish, and more likely to hold his hand or kiss him for no reason. He may have also noticed that this change directly correlated to the amount of freedom she was given.

But the truth was, she did need him – he'd become so much more than teacher, lover, or friend to her since they'd met – she just didn't need him hanging around all the time.

Closing her eyes, she let the understanding wash over her, then shook her head sharply. In return, she showed him images of her parents: well-meaning people, but conflicted in the ways they handled childrearing and conflicted about the child herself. She showed how they'd tried to keep her from running away – using everything from stern talkings-to, to grounding, to a variety of locks and finally, in a fit of clueless desperation on the part of her father when she was very young, a dog's shock collar – and how every one had backfired hideously. She showed him how she'd hated her parents as a child, even though she understood they were only doing what they thought was best for her.

With it, she expressed a fierce desire that that not happen to them. He was too important to her, in so many ways. But if this continued, he would drive her away.

Jaw set, her eyes flicked open, fastening her sire with an intense stare as she sent him a final message: The only way I'll really get to test my skills is without a safety net.

[Trillian]

It made no sense to him, but he understood her desire.  Understanding didn't mean agreement, though.  He was not her parent.  He wasn't holding her back.  Her parents had been selfish, and so had she, and like remembering a dream he once had, he'd had similar desires, but at least he'd been respected.  His wish for escape had come true in a way that had taught him his selfishness.

If something wanted to hurt her, the distance he was keeping meant she would be hurt before he could do anything about it - but hurt and wounds was not the thing he was concerned with.  She would mend. If something wanted to destroy her, it would happen quickly.  There was no blood loss now, no fading of life.  She would be alive or dead.  The only thing his presence meant was retaliation for what had happened to her.

He'd always known this, that following her was nothing to do with being her saviour - though he might've been lying to himself a little.  Funny, how he did that with both her and Lazarus.  The latter a lot less in the past few hundred years, but there were times when he caught himself putting blinders on his own eyes.  Love could change the quality of existence in many ways, no matter how young or old.

He sent to her the message that he wasn't her safety net, and offered her his emotions on the matter - impassive analysis coupled with a magnificent depth of sorrow.  She hadn't needed him since after the first few months.  He was only with her because she wanted him.  Once that changed, he would leave.  His sire had both ignored him and overstayed his welcome.  Cicero wouldn't taint their relationship in such a way.

Then he sent her his opinion on her relationship with her parents.  Both they and Ami been clueless and selfish, not one of them willing to respect the wishes of the other.  To learn this amplified his doubts that he and Ami would remain together much longer, not because he would drive her away, but because he felt that she prized her perception of independence more than she prized the love of others.  He knew she didn't need him.  He'd known for a long time already - before even she'd reached the conclusion herself.  She'd already proved her independence and strength over and over and over.  How many more examples did she need before she could accept a relationship with others?  After sending her this message, he decided it was time she heard his voice.

"Wanting to be close to you is not about you, it's about me.  It's not to protect you, because I no longer can at this distance."  His voice was soft.  There was no plea in it, no patronising tone.  He was just telling her the truth.  "If you are intolerant of the closeness of our connection, you won't have to leave, because I will.  I will not stay with someone who abhors my touch, the sensation of me nearby.  You are angry with me because I wish to be close to you, like a married woman who can't stand the sight of her husband."

[Harlequin]

His thoughts entered her head like stones dropped into a turbulent, dark ocean, and the punk's shoulders hunched as if agains the cold as she listened. The sorrow bottomed her out like a riptide, and she cast her eyes at the floor. The jibe about her parents had her snarling, again, though. Why should she respect them? They hadn't earned it, not for one second. Not like Cicero had (but then again, who was she, that her respect meant so much?).

But he was right. The snarl turned inward, the gnashing teeth of a huge black beast. Who was driving who away, here?

It's not about you, it's about me.

She had come to love the sound of his voice, though she knew it sometimes grated on him to use it. She was glad to hear it now – though less so when he'd finished speaking.

No, by the time he was done a maelstrom had started in her, unleashed when she suddenly stepped into his space and slapped him square across the face,  the sound of skin on skin ringing through the open space. "Don't you fucking  go anywhere," she hissed. Clearly the idea of him leaving was not one she enjoyed.

Just as suddenly, she stepped away, features marred by uncertainty. "Shit. I'm sorry." The apology tasted wrong; it was something she tried to never do, but he deserved it, this time. "I – I don't know. I want you around.  Bad. I just. I've never done this before," she gestured helplessly between the two of them, "It's hard."

[Trillian]

He let her have the slap, though he felt it coming in her thoughts and saw it on the way to him.  She'd shocked him with it before it had even happened, he didn't understand the rage that compelled her to do it.  She was angry because he'd said he would leave her, and angry because he'd wanted to be close.  He'd thought knowing someone so intimately would be easy - that their points of view could be shared emotionally, verbally, even spiritually.  He'd thought Lazarus had missed a great opportunity in disallowing his mental abilities to grow, even though at the time the reason for doing so had been explained to him in a way he could understand though not agree with.  He wondered what Lazarus had discovered with his first fledgling.  Had he discovered that even with their intimacy, that there was still confusion, still resentment, still frustration?

She would no doubt be picking up that he was thinking of his sire - someone she intensely despised and someone he dutifully loved though had temporarily banished.

It is hard, he sent to her mentally, feeling the tingle in his cheek before the sensation disappeared.  There would be no red outline of her fingers, his flesh wasn't receptive enough, and he didn't use his voice because he didn't trust it to behave when he spoke.  She would've sensed his surprise anyway.  I will only leave when you desire it, as I will always return at your request.  I will honour our eternal bond.  I am yours as you are mine.

He anticipated she might be annoyed with this last declaration, but however she felt about their connection, he would always perceive their ownership of each other.