People couldn't see in colour, only black and white and endless shades of grey, until they found their bondmate, that one individual they were meant to have.

Nobody knew why or how it was; they'd given up on finding the cause of it a long time ago. Some things were best left a mystery. And didn't it sound so much…more to say that one's life was devoid of colour because they lacked the other half of themselves rather than because of some biological function involving chemicals and reactions and neurotransmitters in the brain?

Those that could See – not just see but See – were easy to spot. They had a favourite colour. Their clothes matched. They bought specific colours. They watched sunsets longer. They laughed louder and cried harder and smiled brighter.

The first colour that Nick Cutter saw, properly Saw, was red.

It was so bright and vivid that it burned.

The red of her belt, her lipstick, her needle-sharp heels. Vivid, impossible red.

Then brown, the rich mahogany of her hair and her eyes.

And then came green, and yellow, and lilac, and blue, and violet, and so many infinite shades that he was dizzy from it all. It'd all been explained to him when he was in school, as it was explained to everyone. Once he saw his bondmate, all his colours would come to him as he began to See. They just forgot to mention how awesomely beautiful it was.

When Nick Cutter met Jenny Lewis, the first colour he properly Saw, was red, the red belt that interrupted the smooth black fabric of her outfit. It was what caught his eye first.

He loved it.

When he walked up to her, he didn't call her Claudia Brown. He knew that she wasn't Claudia. Claudia had never made him See colour before, for all he might have liked her. It's this woman that he's meant for, this definitely-not-Claudia-Brown. "I'm Nick," he said, a little breathlessly.

"Jenny Lewis."

Connor was the most vibrantly colourful person Nick had ever seen. Some days it almost seemed like the boy had every colour of the rainbow somewhere in his multiple layers. It would have been pointless to tell the lad so, he couldn't See the colours to understand. He knew that Connor couldn't See because who honestly dressed like that on purpose?

He knew that Lester could See, too, because God forbid that man ever wear anything that wasn't immaculate and matching. His suspenders were the same colour as his bloody pocket square.

Oddly enough, it was Stephen that he had the greatest trouble placing. He'd never mentioned a bondmate, nor had he ever given any indication that he had one. And yet, his clothes matched. He had a favourite too – blue, he always seemed to wear blue – but his smiles, few and far between, never quite reached his eyes, and his laugh was unheard of.

Nick wondered if maybe Stephen had been able to See at some point, but then she or he had died. Maybe that was why the hunter faltered when Nick asked him was his favourite colour was, a common question between those that could See, why his shoulders tensed and his fists tightened.

He knew only one person that had lost their bondmate and hence lost the colours in their life.

When he first began teaching at CMU, before Stephen was his assistant, right in the middle of class, one of his students began screaming.

Ollie Netherland had fallen out of his desk, sobbing and wailing, hands covering his eyes and the fading colours, the name 'Marissa' spilling from his lips over and over again. The campus nurse had to sedate him before they bundled him out of the classroom and to home. Nobody had to ask any questions. They knew. The fact that Ollie Netherland could feel the love of his life dying from miles away kept them all mute and terrified.

Nobody wanted to consider it happening to them.

Stephen nearly beat the door down, and Nick couldn't for the life of him understand why.

Because the Stephen Hart he knew was cool and calm and collected. The kind of man that could look a raptor in the eye with only a tranquiliser gun and keep steady hands. He wasn't bedraggled and pacing and wearing the most lurid orange trousers that Nick has ever seen and that Jenny winces to see.

"They're gone, they're all gone! They're gone!"

Stephen said it over and over again, more distraught than Nick had ever seen.

Nick tried asking who was gone, what was wrong, what'd happened, but nothing he said seemed to penetrate.

"They're gone, they're gone." It was all Stephen seemed capable of saying, sitting on the floor of Nick's living room.

Surprisingly enough, not 15 minutes later, Lester showed up at the door with a car, and when he led Stephen out to it, he looked almost pitying.

Their job, without a doubt, was dangerous. Nick had been forced to consider, more than once, the idea that eventually one of them would draw the short stick, find their end at the claws or fangs of some prehistoric carnivore or futuristic predator. He tried his hardest not to be the one to pull that short stick, stayed out of field work much more now that Jenny was pregnant, though somewhere in his heart he knew that one day he'd have to attend a funeral for one of his team.

In the end, however, Connor Temple was shot over a wallet. The brightest, friendliest, kindest, bravest of them all was killed for 37 pounds, an old pocketwatch, and the silver ring from his grandmother he kept on a chain.

The irony was almost too much to bear.

Jenny was getting ready for the funeral when Stephen showed up at their front door. His eyes were red, his hair a windblown mess. In his hands are a dozen loose ties, which honestly surprised Nick, because he hadn't thought Stephen even owned a tie. "I...I can't tell which one's the blue one." The hunter's voice sounded so very devastated and heartbroken that it made Nick's throat tighten.

He didn't question why it mattered what colour tie it was, just pulled out a blue silk one that was nearly the same colour of his eyes.

Stephen wouldn't look at him, just slipped the tie around his neck with trembling fingers. "Thank you. He always liked it when I wore blue."

The pieces fell together then, with such resounding clarity that Nick staggered back against the doorframe, hand pressed to his mouth to hold in an abrupt sob.

He thought of Ollie Netherland when he noticed that Stephen's socks didn't match.