Muted Trilogy: Mute Part 9

"Seems to, yeah."

"Good to know," she sent back, rubbing her arm.

"Is that all you wanted to know?" he asked after a minute of silence.

"Not even close," she blurted, closing her eyes as the impulsive words echoed, followed by his good-natured laughter.

"Okay, what else've you got?"

She watched another patron leave, then ran a hand through her hair.

"What do you-" she started, wincing automatically when he talked over her.

"Are you still-"

The expected mental feedback didn't come, and Jemma let her shoulders relax.

"Well, this telepathy is just better all around, isn't it?" he sent, and she nodded before remembering he couldn't see her.

"Quite." She paused. "Except for the maybe getting kidnapped or killed part of things."

"That does put a damper on it, I've gotta admit. What were you going to say?"

She blinked. "I've forgotten already. Couldn't have been anything too urgent."

"Or it could've been the question to change the world." She could hear the humor in his voice, and she felt herself grinning, letting her hand drop back to her side.

"That's probably it. We'll never know," she sent.

"Are you a teacher?" he asked.

"What?" Her eyebrows drew together as she wondered at the source of his question.

"Well, I think this is about the time teachers get home, so it made sense."

"Oh. No. I could never handle being in charge of that many people five days of every week."

"Summers off, though." The amus.e.m.e.nt that had left his voice when he was clarifying his question had returned.

"That part's pretty nice. My parents are teachers. I admire it, but it's just not something I could ever do. At least, not without a mental breakdown or two."

"So you've decided I don't fall into that category? I'm not some sort of mental breakdown?" he asked.

"I'm fairly certain." She took a deliberate breath in, held it, then released it, glancing around the room quickly before continuing. "I'm not sure I'm more comfortable now, though, knowing I'm not just dreaming or hallucinating."

"I was late to work after checking the information you gave me. It just wasn't something I expected. I like people, consider myself a people person, you know? But I'm not close to many people. Can't Talk with anyone outside of my family."

"Talk. How do I know you capitalized that word?" she asked.

"Another excellent question," he sent.

She searched through the information she'd acquired. "Oh! Right. Normal telepathy, at least, it uses the visual center of our brain, right?"

"Ah. Right. That's the theory."

"So it wouldn't be hard at all to see a capital letter if someone was thinking it."

"And yet, I haven't been able to send pictures that way."

She c.o.c.ked her head, her eyes glazed over in the direction of the computer monitor. "Have you tried with me? This communication doesn't seem to follow the normal rules."

"I haven't. Standby."

She waited. She couldn't see or hear anything other than the sounds around her, and she tried to figure out how she would go about her own attempt at sending a picture, how to mentally narrate an image.

She felt a slight vibration behind her forehead, but nothing else. She rubbed the spot on the outside of her forehead absently.

"Anything?" he asked.

"I think I felt you trying. It was like... Like a silent echo. Does that make any sense?"

"Maybe. You want to try?"

Okay," she sent. She flipped mentally through a few options before choosing a simple image: a s.h.i.+ny, red apple. She focused on him, on his voice and what she knew of him, and she focused on the more obvious characteristics of the fruit until she felt that same vibration. She thought harder, pus.h.i.+ng the color and texture along the established connection.

"I'm ready to check out," said LeVar Burton, loudly, and Jemma gasped, eyes flying open, hand covering her racing heart. "Sorry. Didn't mean to scare you," the patron typed.

"That's fine," she wrote back, not bothering to change the voice the man in front of her had chosen. "Not your fault my mind wandered."

She finished checking his books out and saw her hand shaking as she watched him leave. She'd been startled, yes, but she shouldn't be taking quite so long to calm herself. She found herself wondering whether maybe that form of communication, or at least the attempt at sending images, was draining or taxing by itself.

Her stranger didn't reinitiate contact, and Jemma chose to use the quiet time to do a circle of the library, making sure there weren't any patrons present she hadn't noticed, straightening shelves, and concentrating on getting her hand to stop shaking. The downstairs was empty save for the books, which Jemma neatened automatically. She made her way upstairs and saw only Jack, who seemed absorbed in his computer work. Knowing she could message him more effectively than trying to communicate sans tablet or whiteboard, she went back downstairs and locked the door, just a few minutes before closing time. She moved to her computer and messaged Jack, then started closing duties, finis.h.i.+ng up just as Jack came down the stairs.

She smiled at him, finally feeling settled enough to do so.

Productive day? she asked when he was close enough to read the tablet.

He shook his head. I was distracted today. Couldn't get much done. I may need to stay home tomorrow.

Too loud here? Jemma raised an eyebrow.

Jack smiled. Unbearably. I think I'll have to stop coming. He winked.

Well, I'm ready to go if you are.

He nodded and waited for her to come around the counter before he started toward the door. They walked together to Jemma's car, pausing at her door. She looked at him curiously when he hesitated. He opened his mouth, then closed it, shaking his head and adopting his typical grin, waving at her and walking to his own car.

The drive home was uneventful, the roads nearly deserted. When Jemma got inside, she was still feeling abnormally tired. She made herself a meal, curling up with it in front of the television instead of with a book. She flipped over to BBCA, which was playing pre-recorded shows that still had voice, and let her mind drift.

By the time both meal and television episode were finished, she was feeling much more herself. She cleaned the kitchen and living room, then spent some time on Facebook before heading to bed with her book, intentionally avoiding all news sites. She didn't want to read any more rumors about people disappearing, not tonight. In bed, the book didn't hold her interest for long, and she found herself staring up at the dark ceiling, thinking about her stranger.

"Are you there?" she sent finally.

"Yeah," he answered. "You okay?"

"I am. How did..."

"I felt... Okay, bear with me while I get my words right." There was a pause. "Okay, so I felt like I was about to see what you were trying to show me. I felt that silent echo you were talking about. And then there was this flash, and I got the distinct impression of a Do Not Disturb sign. I didn't actually see it, and I felt like I could still Talk if I tried, but I didn't think you wanted me to."

"I didn't mean to shut you out. I just... I was pretty focused on what I was doing, what I was trying to send, and then I got interrupted. I was a shaky mess, and I don't usually scare all that easily."

"Do you think trying to send the picture affected you?"

"I did consider that, yes," she sent. "I'm thinking that's not something I'll try again for a while."

"Fair enough. Don't know that I'd try again right away, either."

"Yeah."

There was a comfortable silence for a few minutes. She could almost hear him, a quiet presence on the other end of a telepathic phone line.

"Are you still afraid of me?" He sounded unsure.

"I'm not sure I was ever afraid of you. Afraid of what it could mean that I was hearing you, yes. But you?" She thought. "It feels like I've known you forever, even though I know almost nothing about you."

There was a nearly tangible hesitation before he sent his response. "Want to change that?"

CHAPTER THIRTEEN:.

Only Me Jemma blinked. "Do you think we're ready for that?"

"We've established we aren't scared of each other, at least. That's got to mean something, right?"

"Yeah," sent Jemma, "but I mean, I'm not scared of the people my mom tried to get me to talk to on that online dating site, but I didn't really want to share personal information, either."

"Valid. I guess we know even less about each other. And no, I'm not going to ask what you look like. That'd probably be a little creepy, especially if we're both in bed again. Right?"

"Right. Looks aren't really something I consider personal, though," she sent.

"Well, they're how you look, right? You personally?" His tone held more than a hint of mischief.

"Sure. But my hair color tells you nothing about who I am," she said, frowning as she tried to decide whether she wanted a physical image to go with her stranger's voice.

"You don't sound happy with me," he sent. "Am I being creepy? I don't mean to be creepy. Please tell me if I'm creepy."

She laughed, distracted from her thoughts. "No, you're not being creepy."

"You'll tell me, right? Before I'm creepy would be even better. Upsetting the person who lives in my head might be traumatizing."

Her brow furrowed as she fought a sense of dej vu. "Yeah," she agreed absently.

"Anyway," he sent, "I was thinking that maybe we could at least exchange names so I have something to think of you as."

"Do you talk to many strange voices in your head? That could be a little unnerving."

"No, not typically." A sigh echoed through her mind. "Okay, I'm not going to push. What do you want to talk about, then?"

Jemma thought rather than responding immediately. It wasn't as if she didn't already feel like she knew him, so there didn't seem much potential for harm in exchanging names. However, it felt as if it would change everything. Her mind went back to the moment of dej vu. Had he been quoting something? Or did she actually already know him?

"Hey," he sent. "You okay?"

"I am. I'm thinking. I don't remember whether I've said so, but I feel like we know each other."

"I feel the same."

"Right, but I'm nearly certain I've never heard your voice before. I think... For now, I'd rather stay anonymous, okay? Just be us, with no chance of breaking the spell?"

He didn't speak for a minute, but she was fairly certain they were still connected.

"We don't have to break the spell," he sent finally. "So, tell me about some of your favorite books?"

Two Weeks Later Jemma and the stranger got into the habit of speaking nightly, and occasionally during the day, too. They learned likes and dislikes, and she thought she might know him better than she'd ever known anyone outside of her family.

Except for the minor detail of not knowing him at all.

He hadn't mentioned exchanging any identifying details again. After two weeks of regular chats, speaking sometimes for hours, Jemma finally began to wonder whether she was ready for them to get more personal. She didn't even know what town he lived in, though she expected it was nearby from some off-handed references that seemed to fit. She thought if they exchanged names, a meeting wouldn't be far behind, not once that s.h.i.+eld of anonymity had been removed.

It was mid-afternoon, the library quietly busy, and Jemma had just finished checking one patron out when another approached her. She found herself staring at the man, who had some sort of contraption attached to his head.

There were what looked like suction cups against his forehead, and wires attached those to a metal rod welded to a thin, metal hat. Another wire trailed down behind his ear and to a small speaker attached to his wrist. He set down his books, then stared intently at Jemma. She jumped when the speaker started emitting audio.

"I. Would like it. To checkmate out. These books."

The voice was filled with static, halting, robotic as some of the early text-to-speech programs she'd heard, but she didn't see him doing anything to type.

"You want to check these out?" she confirmed with her tablet, and his brow furrowed.

"That. Is. What. I said."