Roderick surveyed the nearly empty cabin in silence; dark sunglasses hiding his scrupulous gaze from the others. He made a mental note to commend Faolan's ability to secure the plane for their sole use. After being injured by the Blackwood woman in the line of duty, the young Colt had more than earned his praise.

"Emmy, where are you going? We aren't done talking!" Lady Blackwood's gruff bark echoed, drawing Roderick's attention to the small knot of people in the center of the plane.

"You are not done talking, but I have finished listening. Please, continue without me." Lady Grady retorted, gliding toward him; her robes chiming softly.

Roderick searched for his comrades, his gaze wildly jumping from one Warrior to the next. The men were in their designated positions. Some settled in for the four hour flight to Los Angeles, while others answered the siblings' questions. Even Dr. Miller pretended to read a creaking tome when his hazel eyes never left Erza's sleeping face. None of the men were available to rescue him from the red robed dynamo approaching him.

He caught himself, and pondered over his choice of words. Why would he need rescued from the tiny Lady Grady? What made him... fear? Did he fear her--her ability? Or did he...fear... her touch? And the dreams he'd lived whilst in her touch-induced sleep?

He ruthlessly corralled the images cascading into his mind, refusing to remember the heat of silken skin and soft moans. He had no business experiencing such dreams. A man with no emotions shouldn't dream at all.

"May I sit with you, Sir Wolf? I need to speak with you."

Emmaline Grady's low, sultry voice made forgetting the dream impossible. Gods, how he wanted to tell her to go to hell, but he needed to keep peace between the Warriors and the siblings in order to make their mission a success. He closed his eyes, thankful for the dark lenses hiding him, and nodded.

She settled onto the blue upholstered seat without a sound. He'd expected her strange garments to twinkle again. Strange how nothing was ever how he expected it to be around the siblings.

He felt her deep sigh; the light brush of fabric against his arm. He removed his arm from the armrest.

Damn, now why did I do that? What the bloody hell is going on with me? He scowled; bewildered. Noticing the odd feeling in his chest, he squashed it relentlessly.

"You don't need to do that, you know. Emotionlessness is actually an unhealthy trait to have." She murmured, the sound muffled by the thick folds of her robe.

"I was born without emotion. To me, feeling emotion means giving in to the Madness that stalks our people. Why does your manner of speech change? You do not normally use contractions, yet you just did." He diverted. He wasn't allowed to be rude to this woman, but he didn't want her prying into his Curse. Some things a man had to handle by himself.

"Forgive me. I must have slipped. I use antiquated manners of speech in order to keep control over myself and my abilities. The robe keeps me from accidentally making contact with others, and falling into an emotional spiral. My more formal and sometimes ornate manner of speech is to keep me from abusing my power without thinking." She divulged, her robes billowing slightly as she leaned back.

"I suppose you could equate my speech and clothing to your constant need to shun the emotions you do feel. It's a need to keep control--of ourselves, our surroundings, and those around us." She continued.

"You mentioned the possibility of abusing your power--explain." He demanded. He did not need some female messing with his comrades.

"I not only experience others' emotions as my own, but I sense intent, and can influence what others are feeling." She clarified, "For instance, right now, Sir Colt is in great pain from his injuries." She nodded toward Faolan, who stood bent over in the middle of the aisle as he dug in his pack.

"Jo is feeling...well, I suppose 'ornery' is the best term to describe it. She's constantly angry, but something about Sir Colt exasperates all of her negative feelings. She wishes to increase his pain somehow. Now, pay attention and I'll demonstrate what I meant."

Knowing his sunglasses hid his unblinking eyes, Roderick stared over at Faolan.

The boy had his whole head inside his backpack and was still rustling deeper. Roderick didn't understand how he did it, but he'd seen the lad pull some strange things out of that bag. Bombs, sure, but also food, pillows... Once, when they'd discovered a bombed village in Somalia; the only survivor had been a little girl of three. Faolan had dug in the bag for ten minutes before dragging out a battered teddy bear for the traumatized child to cuddle. The girl had taken one look at the stuffed toy, and latched onto Faolan's neck. Vladimir had been forced to use a pressure point to put the girl to sleep to get her off the Colt.

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Smiling at the memory, Roderick almost missed it. Jo sidled up beside Faolan, and gave him a resounding smack on the ass.

Faolan yelped, nearly shoving half his body inside the battered backpack.

Jo screeched as she lurched forward; hands flying to her ass as if she, herself, had been struck. The redhead whirled about, and glared menacingly at the robed woman beside Roderick.

From the corner of his eye, Roderick saw the cloth shift, as though Lady Grady were lifting her head in challenge.

Jo's nostrils flared, before she spun on her heel and flopped down next to Lucius. Roderick fought back laughter at the Eagle's confounded face.

"You made Lady Blackwood experience the agony she caused Faolan." He summarized, gaining control once more.

"Yes, but I am limited to this. If I cause a physical injury to someone, I experience their pain ten-fold." She revealed.

"You struck Lady Blackwood earlier, yet you did not suffer." He remarked, wishing he could see her eyes. He wanted to be able to gauge the truth of her words. Usually, the only person who hid her eyes from him was Erza. He didn't like not being able to see Emmy's eyes. It felt...

He quashed the notion as soon as it bubbled inside him.

Lady Grady huffed another sigh, this one tinged with exasperation.

"Of course, you would not notice my sufferance through my robes. I bore the burning sting of ten slaps. My face has swelled, and I cried. You just could not see it. May I ask you a personal query?" She asked, abruptly.

"You may ask. I'll not guarantee an answer." He quipped, leery of the strange woman beside him.

"What did you see in the dream after we touched?"

Warm skin. Soft moans. Wet kisses. Fire. Greed. Passion. Need.

Roderick shoved the memories away. Nothing would come of dreams.

"What did you see, Lady Grady? What did you dream of?"

"The impossible," she whispered, "and you?"

"The inconceivable," he replied, softly.

Silence fell between them. Roderick wondered what the young woman was thinking. He couldn't seem to grasp how her mind worked. He found it difficult to predict her actions; a scenario he, as a tactician, was unfamiliar with.

"Would you agree to an experiment and friendship?" She inquired; her low voice firm once more.

"Elucidate." He wouldn't agree to anything that might affect his duties, or his Regina. Erza was the only thing he held absolute loyalty to; not even his sister held him as tightly.

"I would like to see if I can influence your emotions, or lack thereof, in different situations. I have never before met a person who completely lacks emotion. When you do feel them, they are so muted; even I barely register their existence. Of course, I will only use my abilities when it is safe to do so. I would not endanger you, nor anyone else." She claimed, her robe chiming gently as she shook her head.

"What about the offer of friendship?" He wanted everything spelled out. He didn't have friends. The Warriors were his comrades, and soldiers. He'd die for them, but they weren't--friends.

"I have not been allowed the opportunity to have many friends. My abilities and their inherent afflictions have kept me from knowing people. I would like to get to know you, to become your confidant, and you become mine. We would share our opinions, plans, secrets...whatever it is that friends do. Honestly, I am not certain about that part. I only know what I have read in books or observed in others' emotions.

He considered her offer. The experimentation wouldn't be a problem. As long as she kept her word about never interfering during dangerous situations, he didn't care. Hell, maybe she'd find a cure for his Curse. That would certainly make life easier on all of them.

The problem was the friendship.

What the hell do I know about friendship? And with a woman, at that? I don't even understand my sister, how the hell am I supposed to become a woman's confidante? She'll want my time. Not that he didn't have a few extra centuries; if the Madness didn't kill him first.

She'll want me to console her when she's upset. How the hell can I do that when I can't hold her? Do I throw tissues at her? What the hell?

"It is really not that complicated, Sir Wolf. I merely wish to have someone I can talk to. Someone who will not judge me for being me and being able to do the things I can do." She softly interrupted his inner tirade.

"...You should call me Rick when we're alone. Friends use their Christian names, right?" What the bloody hell did I just say? What am I getting myself into?

"Thank you...Rick. You will call me Emmy from now on, I hope. At least, when we are alone. I agree that some propriety should be maintained in public."

Roderick heard the stark relief in her tone. He hadn't realized how anxious she'd been about his answer. Something sparked along his veins, making his blood race. He crushed the spark, fighting off the stalking Madness.

Leprechaun’s knickers! What the bloody hell have I done this time?