Ghost Bird Fanfiction: Sang's Lyric, The Story of Sang Sorenson's Mother

Kell- 8 Years Later

A/N: Thank you to Jordiscy for being a go-between, and  @potionsmstrs (thank you thank you) for letting me steal one of her awesome characters for a one-liner. 

**************************

I looked around the room at the candidates seated in a semi-circle. I hated the semi-circle; it always made me feel like a quack. I was asking these kids to trust me and each other, and I'd just put them in some bloody kumbaya circle.

"Dr. Garewal," one of the girls said, her kitten-heeled shoe clicking lightly on the floor as she adjusted in her seat. "Stop fixating on the circle. We all agreed we can deal with the circle."


This girl reminded me a little of Lyric, she was insightful and strong; calling me on my bullshit.

"Right," I answered, a little ashamed. "Sorry Sarah. We were talking about pain."


One of the boys across from us crossed his arms, a firmly defensive posture.

Owen.

He was new to the group, and according to Phil and Constance, a born leader. It was just that, like many of us at the Academy, he had a violent and traumatic past; one he never spoke of, but one that could severely hamper his ability to move ahead, make progress, and lead effectively.

Taylor had noticed him right away during basic training. He talked about how he waited for slower candidates, how he found their strengths and exploited them.

But he'd noticed too, the lack of emotion.

"He's like you, Kell," Taylor said worriedly one night at dinner, "right before you lost it."

Psych evals were mandatory at the Academy, and therapy was part and parcel of training. People couldn't be on a team without facing their pasts. They needed to know their triggers and hot buttons.

I'd spent years working on mine, and I still found new ones. James had just pointed one out yesterday, the wanker.

"Pain," I said, "and trauma. Let's talk about what it does to your brain."

It was always easier to start these things dispassionately, clinically, before moving into the personal.

I stood up and moved to the white board and heard a chorus of groans. "Not the white board!"

"Jesus, Garewal," someone said, "this isn't a college course."

I turned around with a narrow-eyed glare before flashing the kid a smile. I wanted them to share, and when I let my emotions show, they were more likely to show their own. I was human, I got annoyed and frustrated. It was okay.

I saw one boy leaning forward anxiously, his elbows on his knees, waiting for me to begin drawing.

The Green boy. He wanted to be a doctor. He loved anything clinical or detailed. Phil had already arranged his courses; he was one his way to becoming a full fledged medical doctor by nineteen.

"Right," I said "so this is your brainstem. It's the most animalistic part of your brain and sends signals to your body to fight, flee, or freeze. It also controls the autonomic nervous system; which is the system that readies your body to do any of those things. You need to run? Your brain starts shutting down anything that isn't absolutely necessary for running. You don't need to be hungry to run, you don't need to go to the loo to run."  That got a laugh. "You just need more blood flowing to your heart, your muscles, and your lungs. Think of it like this, rather than stopping to ask your brain if something is right, you brain has a direct line from your sensory system: your eyes, your skin, your ears, right to your brainstem. You hear a bang, your brainstem interprets it as danger, and your entire body readies to fight. It bypasses all of the smarts you have, and goes right to survival."

These kids were smart. They knew when I talked about survival I was talking about them.

"In the Academy, we take jobs that are challenging. We need to know our triggers before we take these jobs. If we don't, we can let our teammates down, we can let ourselves down, and the people we care about can get hurt."


"What are your triggers?" the boy, Owen asked, his grey eyes challenging me.

There was always one who asked this question.

"My teammates know my triggers," I replied, "but since I want you to trust me, I'll trust you with one of mine..." I took a deep breath. "Bait," I answered.

"Bait?" he asked me, confused.

"Yeah," I answered. "Sometimes, our female Academy members are used as bait in situations that could be dangerous for them. They could be hurt, attacked, raped. I have to keep a clear head, and not let my worry and my desire to protect them from trusting their instincts and skills. So, jobs with bait, that is a trigger."

Owen sat back, his posture a little more relaxed.

We were getting somewhere.

I released the group a little while later. I watched Owen and the Green kid, fall into step together. Interesting.

"Kell!"

I looked over from erasing the white board and smiled. "Hey," I answered. "I didn't expect to see you." 


The woman in front of me crossed her arms over her chest and leaned against the doorframe, she yawned and covered her mouth with one hand. "Sorry," she apologized. "How'd it go?"


"Fine," I answered. "They're a good group. It's amazing, really, that they can be so open to discussing their pasts. I'm always blown away by their trust."

"They can tell," she said, walking into the room, and sitting carefully in one of the folding chairs, "that you're safe."

I ran my hand through my hair.

"It's getting long," she said, watching my hand. "You're starting to look swarthy."

I laughed. "Arrr," I said, "like a pirate."

She giggled and I sat across from her.

"What happened with the lead?" I asked seriously.

The light immediately left her eyes and she shook her head. "I'm..." she stopped. "It was a dead-end," she looked into my eyes sadly. "I'm sorry I got your hopes up." 


I reached across and took her hand in mine. "I'm going next time," I said, "no arguments. I don't care what the Academy says. "


"Kell," she sighed, lifting my hand to her cheek and rubbing my knuckles across her skin. "You'd kill him if you saw him."


I felt my skin get hot and tight, and I took my hand away from her face, afraid that I might clench my fists and squeeze too hard.

"He took her from us. I know he did. Even if..." I said, looking away. "And he hurt..." I had to stop and clear my throat. "He'd be lucky if I just killed him."


"And you wonder why the Academy won't let you go," she retorted, not unkindly.

I rubbed a hand across my forehead and felt my throat tighten as I did every time I thought about her.

I was a failure.

"It's not your fault," she said, reading my mind. "I know what you're thinking, and it's no one's fault. It just was..."

"Dr. Garewal?" I heard a voice ask from the doorway.

We both turned around and saw Owen in the doorway.

"I'll see you later," she told me, and stood up, smiling at Owen and leaving. I watched her go and Owen watched me watch her.

"I was wondering," he asked, giving me a millimeter smile. "If we could find a time to talk."