I can still recall...

Fresh Talon, first assignment. Less than auspicious: babysitting a new historian. At least she was cute, in a bookworm sort of way. Even if she had a touch of holier-than-thou bitch to her.

West was bored senseless. Standing around the burnt ruin of an old bookstore in the dead of night, as the girl stared glassy-eyed into the past, night after night. From what he had heard, she Awoke young, like him... but more importantly, she had a way to see into the past without casting spells.

I was so happy we had met...

"A Wraith," her patient voice explained, although her eyes said she was used to being smarter than whomever she spoke to. "A Wraith of Epochs," she clarified. West didn't mind. He knew he was fairly average, intelligence-wise. He had the same patience problem, in his own way.

"It's hard, because of my memory, it's photographic," the mousy girl continued. "Memories are... still memories. Even if they're crystal clear, you're not sure of the context. Did it happen, or will it happen, to me -- that's what I sometimes have to ask -- Or did I see it in someone's else's past or future?"

West nodded, not really understanding, but he did understand she was feeling vulnerable and opening up.

But underneath we had a fear of flying...

"Why are you so afraid?" she demanded. They were back at the investigation site, and she was using Fate to guide her visions. "How can you be? One day Mages will tremble at your name, James," she added in an exasperated tone. "Which is just as crazy, no one as powerful as you has no destiny -- but you don't. You're like this, this giant among us all, with no purpose!" Her exclamation was an accusation, a question.

"I... I did," he answered, fighting for the words. "I think. I think it was... taken...," he continued, fighting the roiling nausea as he told her, told her things no one else knew, except himself... and Uncle Seven.

Are you the hero of my dreams...

"You're going to break my heart," she whispered, pulling his face down to kiss her. It was their first date, a silly county fair. For a CQB expert, the marksman games were child's-play, and the oversized pink, fluffy penguin that dwarfed her was silent testimony of his skill. West didn't know how to reply, the words not coming as usual. Was she joking? Her way of making statements which rang of finality and judgment always confused him. He looked at her in confusion as they kissed.

I still see it all...

"It's not where!" she gasped, clapping her hands. "It's... it's... when." Eyes focused, as she came out of her vision. "My god, they're leap-frogging in Time. That's why no one can find them." She turned to look at him. "There's three of them... Poe... Keats...," shocked eyes blinked as she paused, "...and Severn."

Walking hand in hand...

More nights were spent, corroborating the discovery, building a picture. Days were spent together, stealing kisses and laughing, her lips stealing his reservations in the mornings, and her body soothing his demons at night. And still the restless dissatisfaction remained, eying the shadow of what had been done, and by whom.

Our last summer...

"Oh my god," she whispered. "It's today, isn't it? You're... wearing that shirt...," her elegant fingers touched his chest, fingering the shirt he had bought the day before. "I don't want to hear it," she gasped, hugging him as tears started to well up in her eyes. "I don't want to hear that stupid fucking speech you've been practicing for weeks, don't patronize me, please, James..." West nodded and hugged the small girl, hating himself.

Memories that remain...

He opened the battered envelope she had pressed into his hand days ago, as he sat on the plane. It was obvious she had been carrying it for weeks... maybe months. He read the flowing script, and carefully put it back into his pocket as the plane leapt into the sky.