"I buy hair," said Madame. "Take yer hat off and let's have a sight at the looks of it."

Down rippled the brown cascade.

"Twenty dollars," said Madame, lifting the mass with a practiced hand.

"Give it to me quick," said Della.

Oh, and the next two hours tripped by on rosy wings. Forget the hashed metaphor. She was ransacking the stores for Jim's present.

-- The Gift of the Magi, O. Henry (1917)

With a level of sensitivity he wouldn’t have expected from them, everyone else at the luncheon faded away, leaving him alone with Lyric.

"You're so beautiful,” she said again, this time whispering as if only to herself. "Your eyes glow. They're glowing, Dare. All that lovely dark blue but with a hint of green in the centers. How can I see this? How can I see this?"

He put his hands on her hips to steady her, because it seemed as if she might float away into the air. As if gravity itself had lost its hold on her.

"This has never happened to you before?" He said it tentatively, but he wanted to know. He needed to know.

She shook her head and only then seemed to notice the tears running down her cheeks. She brushed them off with the back of one hand, still clutching the jewel.

"Never. I have a… Talent. A gift, I call it. This is going to sound ridiculous or at least very strange –"

He snatched an unused cloth napkin from the table and gently wiped her face. "I just brought you to Atlantis. How can anything you say to me be more ridiculous than that?"

His lame attempt at a joke accomplished its end; she smiled and even laughed a little.

"Okay. Here it is: when I sing to the gemstones, I can sometimes see a little bit. I know it sounds crazy but it's true. Erin just tried to tell me I’m a gem singer, whatever that means. Alaric, too. And when I use the jewels in my paints I can see the play of light and darkness in the paints and in the images I create."

Her copper-colored eyes were large and shining. In fact, her entire face seemed lit up from within.

"I'm kind of surprised you don’t walk around carrying gemstones all the time then," he said, puzzled.

"You don't think I’ve tried? It doesn't work that way. It has to do with me with creating art. It has only ever worked when I'm painting, no matter the gemstone. I even tried more rare and valuable gemstones in case that made a difference. But a piece of quartz works just as well as a diamond."

“Then why now--"

“I don’t know,” she cried. “I don’t know, but I don’t want to lose this feeling. The paintings I could create with this…”

He took her hand and squeezed it. "Let's walk in the gardens while we talk about this."

She beamed up at him. "That’s a wonderful idea. I want to see what they look like now."

He took his hand in hers, and they started to walk towards the middle of the gardens. Blazing color--a riot of beauty--lay spread out before them. Lyric's grip on his hand grew tighter and tighter, until he wondered if she might break the bones in his fingers, but he couldn't bring himself to care because she was touching him.

And singing.

She stopped, frozen, in the middle of the path about fifteen feet away from the fountain. "I can hear the water, of course, but I can also ... see something. Oh, Dare, I can see – I can see the light flowing and cascading."

She whirled around and put both her hands on his chest, still gripping the amethyst. "Do you understand what that means? It means I'm actually seeing the water. I'm seeing the water play in the light in the fountain."

He pulled her closer – he couldn't help it. He wanted to kiss her, and hold her, and breathe in some of the shining light and joy surrounding her. Inside of her. But before he could bend his head to do so, she whirled around again, releasing him, and took a tentative step towards the fountain, then another and another until she was almost running. He dashed after her to make sure she didn't collide with the fountain’s marble edge and harm herself, but she stopped inches away.

Laughing.

Crying.

Emotions were pouring out of her faster than the water was pouring out of the fountain, and she was still singing. The song sounded familiar, and he suddenly realized why. She was singing an ancient Temple song of gratitude for a full harvest…in an ancient Atlantean dialect.

How was that even possible? Had he somehow broken her mind by bringing her here?

"It's so much. It's too much. I don't know how to process all this." She turned to him, clutching her head with both hands. "It's overwhelming me, Dare. I need a moment. I think I… I need a moment in a quiet place to comprehend all of this."

"Are you sure?"

She shook her head and flung her arms out to the side. "Of course I'm not sure. I'm terrified that if I walk out of this garden this experience will never happen to me again. My head feels like it's about to split open, the way it used to, right after the accident. Which makes me realize that I'm going to need to get some rest in a quiet place soon, or I might fall down and be out with a three-day migraine."

"What's a migraine?"

“It's the worst headache that has ever existed. And – oh no – it's starting now." She stumbled a little, and he swept her up off the ground and into his arms, lifting her with one arm under her back and the other under her knees.

"I can walk, Dare," she hissed,. "Put me down."

Her cheeks blushed a delightful pink, and he suddenly, fiercely wanted to lie her down in the middle of all the flowers and take her. Hard and urgent. Claim her.

Possess her.

He had to clench his jaw shut to keep from kissing her, because kissing would lead to more, and he wasn't entirely sure that she would want him to stop. But he knew he was no good for her – could never be good for her.

There was no way in the nine hells he would allow his darkness to infect her light.

"I know you can walk, Lyric. But this way I get the chance to play the hero, which will shock the hell out of people around here. Let me have a little fun, okay?"

She laughed a little but then winced, still holding her head. "Okay," she whispered.

He didn't wait. He headed for the palace with the steadiest and smoothest stride he could manage, to avoid jolting her or causing her further pain. When they walked into the palace, the cool shade must've helped, because the furrows in her forehead smoothed out, and he felt her relax a little in his arms.

"I'm sorry, I don't know where my room is. Fergus took my things while we went to lunch."

"Don't worry. I know exactly the room Riley was talking about."

He walked up three double flights of stairs, grimly enjoying the shocked expressions on the faces of everyone he passed. He knew what they were thinking about him. Dare the pirate. Dare the reprobate.

Dare the scoundrel.

They probably thought he was taking this poor woman hostage to have his wicked way with her.

At the thought of wicked ways and Lyric, both in the same sentence, his skin heated and his body hardened.

"Bad timing," he muttered grimly.

"I'm sorry. I –"

"Not you, sweetheart. This was all on me."

When they arrived at the rooms Riley had given Lyric, he saw that Fergus had placed her bags neatly next to the bed, unopened. Atlanteans were very careful to preserve privacy for others, since close quarters under the dome had made retaining privacy essential to civilization. No one would've thought or dreamed of opening her bags.

Knowing Lyric, she probably would prefer it that way. Personally, he was wishing a night dress had been put out. He walked over and gently lowered Lyric to the bed.

"What can I do? Tell me. Anything.”

"You've done enough already," she protested. "I just need to rest."

“I'll go get a healer or a glass of water. No, a glass of water and a healer. I'll get – I'll get the queen. I'll find somebody," he said, shocked at the torrent of words gushing out of his mouth.

How everyone he knew would laugh to find the man they knew as coldhearted and steady in any crisis was terrified, but he was afraid. Afraid this headache might be the precursor to something worse. That whatever reaction had happened with the gemstones might have been the catalyst.

By the gods, if his gift had harmed her – if he were the reason for her pain – he would not want to live. He couldn’t lose her. He couldn't. He'd already lost his ship and Seranth, but this loss ...the truth of it sliced through him. This loss would break him.

She held out her hand, and he immediately took it in his own.

“Just stay with me. I don't need anything but sleep right now but please stay with me," she asked softly.

"Always," he promised.

She smiled a little, but it wasn't until after he'd eased himself down on the bed next to her in a sitting position, and she’d moved to rest her head in his lap and fallen asleep, that he realized what he'd said.

How could he give always to a woman when he didn't even deserve her now?