Really Sang?

One Year

One year. It had been one year since Kota agreed to share Sang and the fateful meeting where we'd agreed that we would wait for her, however long it took. We'd waited through the mission involving Ashley Waters. We'd waited through the deportation of Silas's brother Theo. We'd waited through endless missions that Sang had inexplicably become involved with and succeeded in. We had waited through Academy inspection and had held our breath when other bird teams had begun to sniff her out and offer friendship to her. she denied them, of course, with much convincing from myself and the others, but it had been hard. Especially when she was so thoughtlessly selfless.

We had almost lost her a few times, but she always came back for more. Her heart was too perfect, too absolutely forgiving for such a rowdy and reckless bunch of boys. She was too good for us.

One year.

I rubbed a hand, calloused from the constant stringing that my violin had undergone as a result of my frustration, over my face.

Another team was offering us favors for a simple meeting with the mysterious ghost bird, and the sparkling gem that she represented to other teams was starting to positively interfere with the number of jobs we were getting.

Normally, I would feel honored that my team was being given such a high influx of opportunities to further their standing in the Academy, but these jobs were different. They were in conjunction with other teams that requested long term contact with our team, and, if my suspicions were correct, contact with Miss. Sorenson would be unavoidable.

Our relationships were also beginning to become strained with each other as the result of the total obliviousness of Sang to the passion and fever at which she had unwittingly inscribed into our souls. The tension in the room whenever she did something that demonstrated her unrealized love for us was overwhelming. Whenever there was a noticeable change in her behavior that could lead to a realization I was alerted immediately, only to discover that it was something as trivial as the arrival of her period or frustration with the Greek verbs Silas was teaching her.

The waiting was torturous, but made bearable by the way that she effortlessly managed to take care of everyone, from acting as a date for the benefit of a parent (to the immense pleasure of the lucky boy) to making diner and sending thermoses of soup to whoever was on a late night mission. Most days it was easy to pretend that she loved each one of us equally and that she'd never leave us.

Other days, like those when she would try to convince us to date, were harder.

"Owen," Sean's endlessly cheery voice broke me from my reprieve and out of my tangent, "If you glare at those papers any harder, they'll explode."

He was leaning against the door of my study, watching me amusedly as I toiled internally over the enigma that was Sang Sorenson.

"Take a look at these." I commanded, gesturing downwards to the offending folder.

He flipped through them with measured interest, a single brow twitching as he tried to decipher the problem.

"Sixty percent of them are regarding long term assignments that will most likely result in frequent contact with Miss. Sorenson." my words were flat, indicating my displeasure at the infringement of other teams.

It took a moment for my words to sink in, delaying his dramatic reaction of throwing the files back on my desk with apparent disgust.

"You'd think that after a year," he seethed, the bags under his eyes disappearing in fury, "They'd learn that she wants to stay with us."

He threw himself over the arms of an excessively poufy purple chair, the only piece of furniture in the room that didn't fit in with the rest of the grey and white décor.