"My apologies. I don't mean to - I don't tell you this to create sympathy for myself." He mutters. 

"You don't have to say sorry." I scoot a little closer." I appreciate you opening up. I haven't been the best travel buddy, either. Plus, I'm kind of small and squishy."

He smiles a little. "You've been reacting. I was aloof and cruel. You should give yourself more credit." He rubs the back of his neck, cheeks pink. "I think you're- that is. Well..."

"I'm what?"

"You...Ah. Well." He rubs his arm, changing the subject. "Would you happen to know what kind of paints these are? They don't smear, but they don't feel stiff either."

"It's something they mixed up for the Rites, I guess. That part I don't know about." He's done a lot of sharing, and I'm willing to bet it wasn't comfortable. So, I give a little back. "I... I'm not a good smiler. My face always mushes up, and I smile too big when I shouldn't," I tell him.

Toren plays with his shirt cuff. "I'm bad at that, too. My father used to make me practice looking in the mirror to exude confidence to the people," He says.

"Nuh-uh, show me!" I sit back up on my knees. "Come on.”

"No way-"

"Come on. I won't take pictures or anything. Show me a little smolder," I tease. I don't think he'll do it, and I don't intend to push again; I'm too worn out. To my surprise, though, He straightens, chin lifted, and head high with his shoulders squared. There's a dangerous smirk on his lips, one I could have learned to like a lot. His eyes reach into me, grab hold of my insides, and tangle them up.

I haven't laughed so hard in ages.

It starts as a giggle, then a laugh, and soon, I'm braying like a scared donkey, and he's rolling beside me, cracking up just as much.

"You-you're face-" I gasp out.

"I know it's so bad, it's so bad!" He howls.

"You looked so dumb!" I laugh harder, giving him a push. He nudges me back while we manage to calm ourselves. It feels better to smile than whatever I was feeling before.

"So... we do the tests and then go our separate ways?" I finally asked, sighing. He nods and offers a hand. We shake on it, climb onto the examination tables, and lay back, looking up at the scanners above.

"For the record? I don't think you're a freak. I know there's a love match for you, Zara," He tells me.

"I think your normal smile is a lot nicer than whatever that was," I say. He gives me one of those smiles now before Roma comes back in. I don't have time to wonder if she was listening at the door because the techs are already pulling up chairs to draw blood while she reaches above us, adjusting the scanners.

"Alright, younglings, lie still now, and all will be over quickly. Blood, scan, and anesthetic, and we'll have you on your way." I feel the needle prick one vein, trying to focus on her promise that it won't take long. My good mood is fading as the present situation brings reality back crashing in. What will I tell Papa and Tula? Everyone back home will have questions. I don't know how I'm going to answer them.

"Scans! Lay still, please; we'll need a few done, so make yourself comfortable, and one two three." We're bathed in soft orange light, and there's a breeze humming as the sun travels over our bodies. Once, twice, maybe four or five more after that. During the scans, a panel in the ceiling above the beds opens, lowering bulky headsets with visors attached to where the temples will be.

 Once Roma is satisfied with whatever the scans show on her tablet, she sits between us, gesturing for the technicians to lower the headsets.

"These will exude a gas to put you under the anesthesia. It'll be a dream-like state, and we out here will provide neurostimulation. It shouldn't be anything too unpleasant, and we'll bring you out of it once we have the brain wave patterns we need," Roma explains quickly, as though she does this every day. It's Bond Clan, so she probably does.

"What are you hoping to see on the scans?" Toren asks while the technicians clean us with antiseptic wipes. Headsets are fitted carefully over each of our brows. Roma is looking at her tablet but glances up briefly.

"The goal is briefly connecting your minds and seeing if the brain wave patterns will synch. As your other half, this should be the case anyway. Our computers compare and analyze the data, giving us the compatibility rate and result in seconds. Years ago, even attempting such a thing wasn't possible. It's a scientific marvel," She gushes, returning to her tablet. I'm glad she's so excited. It makes it a little less pathetic to feel the butterflies that I do.

The needle goes in under my skin, and I try to ignore the foreign feel of it piercing my vein. The monitors beep as my blood is drawn, and quick as a wink, they're through. She nods at the sleek tablet in her hand and rises, and we're once again poked, this time with an intravenous line dripping something oddly cold into our bodies.

"This is the anesthetic. It should take a little time for you to feel the effects. I want you to breathe deeply and think of the one beside you. Think of their lungs, expanding and expelling air, their warmth. Focus on each other. Breathing deeply, slow and easy, breathing…"

 ****

I am in Toren's room.

No, not Toren's room. My room. The textbooks are lining the walls; the new board looks excellent. I'm pleased they haven't made a mess during the installation. Somehow, I am Zara Rueben, and he, Toren Finch, at one time. I blink again and realize I'm seeing this memory through his eyes.

The cyboard is the latest in its class and needs no tinkering, but that doesn't stop me from picking up a screwdriver. If Toren focuses on this, he doesn't need to focus on his fear for Mom and the baby-

"Toren? We've returned!" My father's calling from the main room. I can't think what he must mean by we. There is no we. Mom is sick, and my new sibling is in dire straits; this can't be

"Toren! Son, where are you? You come when I call for you!" Father is in a mood, meaning Mom isn't doing well, or things are semi-normal again. I watch through Toren's eyes as he makes his way down the hall, hurrying to the living room.

"What have I told you about running in the house? A gentleman only runs when exercising-" He begins, but Toren doesn't care. He sees his mother cuddling a small bundle, and that's all that matters.

The blonde's tired smile is angelic, even as weary as her body is, her eyes alight when she sees her son. I feel the rush in his gut. The relief is dizzying to see her serene face and watch her all but float towards us.

"Mom! You're home!" Toren doesn't care about his father's disapproval or the talking down to he's sure to receive later. He sees his Mom and his sister, and all the terror and sick worry that left him retching in the toilet and with clammy hands subsides.

"Yes, sweetie, I'm here. My, you would think I was gone for years!" Her laughter is warm and soothing; through the memory's eyes, I can feel her hand in my hair, one slender arm wrapped tight around me in a hug. She’s only been gone three weeks, and it felt like an eternity. Three weeks of Father pacing late at night, Anne trying to smile while her eyes worry and whispering that the baby is not surviving through it all.

"Can I see her?"

"Your mother needs rest, Toren. You can speak with her later," Father cuts in, ushering her to their room.

"But-"

"I'm fine, darling." She smiles reassuringly, and something passes briefly between them. Toren knows his father loves his mother in his own way. She always tries to reassure him of this when he expresses concern about finding a match with someone he can tolerate. The truth is that he doesn't want to be in anything less than a love match. Yet he's come to accept such a fate. He will pair with the most compatible match, a young woman who will help further the Finch line and legacy.

Toren pushes the thought away, and I'm grateful that we don't wallow in that misery. His mother moves to the couch, taking the distance inch by inch, and even that simple action causes exhaustion. She settles in against the plush cushions and invitingly pats the seat beside her.

"Would you like to have a proper hello?"

She's talking about Toren's new baby sister. I can feel his heart pounding, the nerves charging up. What if he drops her? What if the baby screams as soon as he tries to touch her and hates him for all eternity? If their age difference causes animosity, will she try to take his place as heir to the Finch legacy? As he often does, he compartmentalizes, and those concerns are set aside for now. He sits on the couch, and we look at our mother. We bask in her gaze's warmth and affectionate peck on the temple.

"Here, hold her gently now. Just tuck her into the crook of your arm. There we are." She eases the baby into Toren's arms, and he stops breathing. He's never beheld anything so small and pink and perfect, with a head full of wispy blond curls and a tiny mouth that mewls at him as the baby is moved.

When he thinks he can't be any more enchanted, she opens her eyes. They are so impossibly blue, wholly innocent, and entirely trusting. She snuggles closer to his shirt, her itty-bitty hand gripping the fabric tight. She stares up at him, and he stares back, wholly taken and head over heels for this little soul. Nobody but Mom has ever loved us just because. It is always what we contribute to the district and what we mean for the future. Father had us because an heir was needed, yet here is a new little person who will come to know and love us for the simple reason that she can.

"Adriana. Say hello to your big brother. Say hello," His mother whispers. The newborn continues to stare. Her mouth turns up at the corners. She's smiling at him, and he smiles back without doing so consciously. For all the bolstering his father does and the fake smiles and attempts at appearing interested, there is a sudden and natural yearning there. He will protect this smiling little face. He will make himself into a young man she will one day proudly point out to the other children.

"That's my big brother!" She'll tell them. "That's Finch!"

He swears it.

***

My arms are still folded, holding an infant Adriana Finch, when I come to. I don’t even realize I’m panting until someone fits an oxygen mask over my face and instructs me to breathe deeply.

I miss Adriana, and I want to hug my mother. The feelings are not my own, I realize. The anxiety attack, the attempts to ignore what Father will say upon my return, the confusion every time I see the Clan girl and the constant worry that I am making the wrong decision are all emotions weighing me down. They’ve been dragging Toren down since the moment his journey began. How has he been living like this?

A nearby commotion catches my eye and renews my panic. Toren’s arms are flailing and clawing in a horrible mimicry of the doggie paddle. Two technicians are trying to steady him and bring him out of the anesthetic, but the room is beginning to tremble beneath us. I push past my technician, wobbling over and trying to take ahold of his hand.

“Toren, it’s alright, I’m here-” I wrap my fingers around his and cry out at the shock as we lock in on one another, and his thrashing stops with a suddenness that immediately alarms the technicians.

“Is he crashing?! Give me a status!” Roma snaps, running in.

“We don’t know, he just-”

His eyes open, full, and flying up to my face. “Zara-” He breathes my name out and slumps back against the table.

“Toren?! Toren, wake up, wake him up!” Someone is gently but firmly tugging on my arm, bringing me back to my exam table. "Miss Rueben, you're still attached to your I.V. We need you to come to sit down again, please." When the tech pulls on me again, I try to move back toward Toren, and a guard shuffles in to assist them in getting me back to bed.

“No, someone tell me what’s going on, tell me what’s wrong with him! Get off me!” I shake the guard off, a gust of wind stirring up and slamming him back against the window.

“Everyone calm down, please. Zara, calm down.” Roma’s voice is soft and soothing. “Zara. Listen to me. You’re distraught right now. It would be best if you took some deep breaths, or else you’ll hinder our ability to help Toren. You don’t want that; you want us to help him, right?” She holds up her hands, slowly going over to my bedside, shooing away the technician who screamed when I threw the guard.

“I- I didn’t mean to. Toren, he’s sick or something. You have to.” She smooths my hair, shushing my pleas.

“I know, and we’re going to check on him right now,” She promises. “It looks as though he’s already coming around.” She nods at his bedside, where they’ve fit him with an oxygen mask and are murmuring to him. He nods, and his eyes slide over to mine briefly.

“What happened?” I ask, still watching him.

“You'll get your results shortly.” She pets me again. “We'll send you to a mutual resting space to recover from your ordeal. I'm sorry. This has never happened before. I don't know what to say." I expect her to be more concerned, perhaps calling for the other technicians' assistance or insisting we be given some medication. Instead, she's watching the two of us sharply, her lips twitching as though she'd like to smile and fight back the muscles.

"Miss Rueben? Right this way, please?" I hurry to get to Toren, not wanting to leave him alone. Again, the corners of her mouth turn up. The guard is still sprawled by the window. "We can assist him, Zara. You needn't worry yourself-"

"It's alright. I can manage." I hold her gaze until her lips smooth out once more.

She nods, voice like honey and fingers flying across her tablet.

"Of course." She motions for the technicians, still speaking to Toren, to move away, and surprisingly, he drapes his arm over my shoulder when I stoop to help him stand.

“Someone see to Mr. Jones, please.” She gestures at the fallen guard. “I’ll return shortly.” Slowly, we follow Roma out of the scanning area down a short hallway to a vast room. Its walls are turquoise; the jewel-toned silk pillows drag against the pad of my fingertips. I lay Toren on the chaise portion of a gray suede couch and put his head in my lap to rest more comfortably.

"As I said earlier, this will be your recovery space. There is food and drink for you both here. We'll send your seconds through in a short while once you've had the chance to rest. You might use this time to reconnect with one another, perhaps discuss what you saw while under the scanning bed?" She smiles serenely, pouring juice for us both. And she leaves us to our snacks.

Toren still hasn't spoken.