A/N: Hi, beautiful people! First off, this will be loaded with 3x06 and on spoilers, so stay away from it until you've watched it (I'm sure that if you're like me, you've seen it at least three times).

Today, I'm starting a new project, my first Lost Girl fic! I'm a super-huge Kenzi/Dyson shipper, I don't understand how the show's writers can give us what they give us, and still have Dyson pining after Bo. Oh, well. (And now they're trying to pair her up with Hale? Hello, zero chemistry between those two.)

This will be a six chapter fic, this first one being the one that sets everything in motion, and the remaining five will each cover one of the five human senses. Because, here's the thing: it's based on a prompt by impish_dragon on LJ. I've seen another one of these fics here, but I wanted to give it a go too.

Impish said:

Somehow Dyson ends up addicted to Kenzi via the five senses. (Ex: He becomes addicted to the sound of her voice. Or you can get even more specific, like he is addicted to the way she says his name.)

Musts:

*No one can figure out what's happening until at least the second sense.

*All five senses must be used.

*Kenzi and Dyson cannot have a previous attraction to each other but I do want them to end up together.

Whether they find a cure for him is up to you. Any rating is fine.

I'm rating this M because of reasons ;) Please R&R if you feel like it. Reviews are like special crack to me.

Oh, and don't go asking me when I'll update. I don't even know.

Disclaimer: I don't own Lost Girl, and if I did, I'd want this to happen.

1: Spell Unleashed

Look at her. She's so tiny, wrapped up in that warm, huge blanket and curled up on the sofa like the small human creature that she is.

She smells of earth and mildew and rotting things, but underneath all the putrid smells, he can still make out the signature scent that he associates with her. Vanilla… and something flowery that is all her, because he knows damn well that she's not the sort of girl who would use girly perfumes.

The sedative the doc has given her has taken its sweet time to kick in. No one but her knows that she's afraid of sleeping now. Afraid to lose those she loves again. She's been on the brink of losing them one too many times, and some days, she's certain that she's living in a dream and that if she so much as closes her eyes, everything will be lost to the darkness once more. But the food she so needed has calmed her body's urges, making the effects of the sedative that much stronger.

And so she sleeps, while Dyson watches over her. Her lithe little body moves around on the makeshift bed, almost inaudible whispers escaping her lips. Her brow is set on a firm frown and it seems that nothing is able to erase it from her face. This is how he now knows, too, why she was so stubborn only hours ago, when they had to force her to let Lauren inject her skin.

Those sounds she's making and the way her body keeps contorting confirm his suspicions about why she didn't want to get some rest. Her dreams can only be nightmares, horrible images she's desperately trying to push away from her.

He doesn't know what to do with himself, how to help her. Sometimes, Kenzi looks so fragile, and yet, he knows just how strong she really is. But right now, he fears his slightest touch might break her. She's tossing around so furiously now, the coverlet thrown aside, that he can see the red, angry rash on her arm shining against her snow white skin. An injury he'd thought was gone; he has no idea how it's come back like this.

And they've left him alone, in charge of her. He knows Lauren should be here, or perhaps even Bo. Maybe her voice would be able to soothe her. He hasn't tried to touch her yet, hasn't spoken a word. Would it do any good?, he wonders. She's so far gone into her nightmarish world, he's not even sure she'd be able to hear him.

Her increasing cries are like slashes to his heart; he doesn't know how no one can hear her and it looks like it's just him now. He needs to move quick if he wants to help her.

Not touching her –she doesn't seem to be falling out of the sofa-, he runs to the many shelves Trick has built-in down here over the years. Vials, bottles, boxes, so many little and big things occupy them, and yet he has no clue what he's searching for.

A piercing scream makes him turn around and the sight that greets him sends a shivering chill running down his spine. His friend is twisting on the sofa, her body half on the air, half against the cushions. He can see the whites of her eyes as they turn inwards in her pain.

The blistering-like rash on her forearm taunts him again, reminding him whose fault it is that she got it for in the first place.

He moves through Trick's belongings with double-speed. Some things fall to the floor, shattering and releasing different scents, but the only one he's concerned with now is the smell of terror emanating from Kenzi. From the corner of his eye, he spots something, a box of some wood that smells like hospital disinfectant. A first aid kit.

He doesn't even pay attention to the symbol on the lid, doesn't question what could be hiding inside the wooden contraption. Kenzi's screams have stopped, but so has her breathing, and Dyson's starting to sweat like he's never done before, his heart running even faster than when he's in wolf form.

Kenzi's twig-like limbs have fallen haphazardly about her and her chest rises no more. Dyson can't hear her heart any longer. Her ice blue eyes remain open, but they hold no life inside them.

To him, it's like being in his loft all over again, feeling that vacuum in his chest just taking everything away. He does not dare touch her, but he knows he has to; and so, with the utmost care, he scoops her up in his arms and cradles her lifeless body against his own.

She's warm still, and as soft as he knows her to be. There's a little voice in his brain that tells him that maybe this is an impostor all over again, that his friend is still out there, waiting for him to come and save her.

He's already cried for her. He wishes he could cry now, but the tears won't come. His mind is not fuzzy anymore; Tamsin's hold on it has been gone from him for some time now. Still, his brain is a mess of thoughts and images, all starring Kenzi and their time together.

Whatever little time they've had has imprinted itself on the inside of his skull, permanently. If he thought her screams were slashing at his heart, then he thinks this is what will definitely kill it. A second time she's died in his arms, and here he is, unable to bring her back.

Really, there's nothing left for him to feel. This little human woman has taken everything he had with her. Everything she'd saved, too.

He feels nothing but defeat; his head is too heavy for him to hold upright and it falls on Kenzi's chest, just as he's bringing her closer to him, still. There, his nose picks up on her scent again, that smell that would fill the room whenever she walked in.

He doesn't notice it, but his body instinctually begins a rocking motion, both to soothe him and her, although it won't do her any good now. In that instant, he's sure he's going crazy. Because there's no way he's feeling what his senses are screaming at him.

It might be insanity, but he still needs to make sure. His left ear presses down on Kenzi's chest so hard, that were she awake, she'd be batting him away and complaining that he respect her personal space. But of course, he's not thinking like that right now. Because what's drawing his attention is nothing less than a faint whisper, fluttering inside her.

Dyson quickly removes his head from her body, looks her over and almost cries out in gratitude as he notices her eyes dancing behind her eyelids. Had he not had his wolf sight, he wouldn't have been able to see it, so minute the movement was. But, he is an Alpha, and his senses are on high alert, all dedicated to care for his friend as if she were one of his own kind.

She is not yet gone, but he fears that if he does not do something to help her she will be out of his reach in minutes. A sharp something stabs him in the hip. His eyes momentarily leave Kenzi's face to see what the offending object can be, and they find the wooden box he'd taken not two minutes before.

Convinced he must treat her wound -for what other thing could be hurting her so?-, he sets her on the sofa again, very gently, and takes the box from where he'd dropped it.

He must be fast, her breath seems to be coming back to normal, but the rash on her arm appears to be spreading. No, he's sure it's grown at least a couple of centimetres.

The latch on the box is a tricky thing. Why would a medical kit be locked like this? As he opens is, his hearing straining to pick up any sound from Kenzi, he's hit by a cloud of dust on his face and he must cough to regain control of his breathing.

The wooden box falls unceremoniously to the floor under the sofa, its contents spilled all over the Alpha wolf that used his strength to pry it open. Already kneeling, Dyson's hands grab on to the edge of the sofa where Kenzi's heart is already picking up speed inside her. His head meets her chest, an immense feeling of gratefulness washing over him as her heart beats in time with his again.

He does not dare open his eyes yet. He doesn't want to break this spell and find her already gone, this time for real. He is not sure how he would cope with that situation, did it ever arise. How would he face the woman he loves, her big sister (for that is what these two women are right now, their bond more than a mere friendship), when he had to tell her that she was lost to them yet again? It is not something he thinks he could endure.

The loss of this little, but powerful human… it would be his downfall. He is sure of it.

Something comes to rest on his head, on his dirt-covered hair. A light touch, delicate, that makes his heart beat faster in his chest.

Here is the confirmation he was looking for: The knowledge that she will be okay, because he will make sure of it. He notices with delight the little motions her chest makes as she draws breath and as that same breath leaves her.

She is breathing.

Her fingers intertwine with his hair, dirty and bloody like her own. And even though it is insane (he's already covered the insanity part of himself today), he swears he can feel the giddiness she's feeling from the way her heart sings.

He says nothing, doesn't move. She is someone that confuses him so; he wouldn't know what to say to her if he opened his eyes now, wouldn't know how to read her. So he waits, and she lets him, comforting him with her slow caresses.

That she should be the one to comfort him does not go unnoticed by him. Again, he feels the strength flowing in her veins calling out to him, like it has done so many times before.

His breathing has settled down, finally. He's not sure how to proceed, but he knows she'll have the answer. A small laugh from her manages to pull him out of his thoughts and bring him to the present, to this cellar that has been witness to so many crazy things.

His head feels, suddenly, filled with a thick substance, and he shakes it to try and get it to go away. It doesn't, but he could care less about how he's feeling. It's her who's important right now.

Small, human Kenzi, with her stubborn mind and her Russian swearing that always steals a smile from him. She's trying to move under him, he can tell. His head is still buried in her chest. Still trying to convince his brain that it's really happening, he helped get her back and she's alive and here.

A small tug from her fingers lets him know that he needs to lift his large head from her body. Surely, he's crushing her and her lungs need all the oxygen they can get right now.

As if she truly were part of his pack, he swears she has just read his mind. For the first thing that comes out of her mouth, in a terribly hoarse voice, is, "Hey, wolf-man. Not that I don't appreciate the love, but do you think you could maybe give me space to breathe, here?"

The muscles on his face hurt like hell when the biggest grin breaks through. He hadn't smiled in so long, he was sure his face had forgotten how. Apparently not. But, then again, Kenzi does always manage to make him smile, even if he doesn't let the others see it.

He waits until his head is up to look at her. The thick, swirling mist is getting heavier in his brain, he feels worse than after a particularly nasty hangover. He cannot tell at this point if he is dreaming or awake, or if this is anywhere in between. He doesn't really care, now.

Everything that matters to him is the sight in front of him.

Her hand is still in his hair, tracing circles on his scalp that he barely notices. It's her eyes what ensnare him. Those piercingly brilliant eyes he'd lost hope of ever seeing again. He does not see anything other than her blue orbs looking up at him.

And then she smiles, and the movement pushes his attention to the way her face shifts as she makes the effort to look brave for him. She's so tired, he can tell, that she barely manages to move her head to look at him better. Exhaustion is clear on her face and on the way her hand drops to her side, without her even bothering to place it beside her body.

He notices this, but he cannot move to help her, cannot stop memorising her every feature: Her impossibly long eyelashes, the tiny beauty marks above her lips, or the silver flecks that dust her eyes. It all becomes clear in his mind's eye, clearer than anything else.

Her smile falters, her body too tired to sustain it, and he wonders what he can do to make her feel better.

This is the moment he realises he would do just about anything to keep her safe. But what frightens him is the intensity of those feelings. He will have to talk to her about it, but later, now is not the time.

Her brow deepens, ever so slightly. Without her having to voice her thoughts, he knows he's scaring her with the force of his stare. And because he does not wish her to be scared, not ever again, not in her waking hours and not in her dreams, he does the first thing that comes to mind.

He brushes her cheek with his hand and he gives her his biggest smile yet.