He feels her presence all over.

It's like a beacon, a siren that draws him in closer and closer. It's been forever, and he continuously looks her over as if she might vanish into thin air. She doesn't feel it. Her powers are bursting and flaring up, unstable and untrustworthy. She doesn't feel the same unbreakable connection that he does – that calm that washes over a Psychonaut when their partner is near. Rather, his presence fills her with energy, something she already had in spades. There is something very morbid, he thinks, about feeling such a bond and not having it returned. Still, he can't shut it out. He feels it in him like a pulse.

"Valerie."

It's been forever, too long. It's been long enough that he can't look away, long enough he knows he's in too deep right now. For the sake of his sanity he should run like hell and never look back. She's become more than just a rescue mission now. He's gone too far in this, in this entire bad idea. He knows more about her than anyone else on the planet. He holds her life in his hands. Her sanity, her powers, her memories are all his to do with what he pleases. This has gotten way out of hand. This probably falls under the category of stalkery, insanity, something not quite right. If he were a smarter man, he would end this right here and now.

He stays. He can't help it. The object of his obsession has grown too near and dear to his heart. If they were caught now, it would all fall to pieces. They would evaluate and reinstate her. He would be demoted if not thrown out altogether. He could be charged with any number of things. Kidnapping, tampering with memories without consent, entering a mind without due cause, gross misuse of psychic power. There could even be a case made for negligence, as he'd allowed her to go at this by herself for far too long to justify his actions. This was, of course, without taking into account the radiation the psitanium had given her, which would violate a dozen health codes on its own. God, he feels stupid and foolish right now. So much for helping her out.

Why is he so close to her? He doesn't want to be. Certainly he'd never planned on this. She wasn't the person he was supposed to love. Everyone expected him to love Milla, to marry her, to move on with his life. He'd tried, too, just not hard enough. Milla Vodello is a darling woman. Valerie is bizarre. Off. Not quite right. Milla is certainty. Valerie is a time bomb. Logic dictates he shouldn't be here, at her school, sitting awkwardly and watching her closely. He should be off somewhere with his Brazilian partner, chatting idly about their jobs, mindless and normal. This isn't normal. This isn't right.

And yet it is. For the first time in years his mind is calm even as his thoughts race. He relaxes as his brain screams panic at him. This is the bond of a partner, the bond between psychics, and it is so powerful that he can hardly stand it. The urge to touch her hand runs through him. Sasha breathes in deeply, trying not to remember it all. He wants to let her down gently, because he won't let her become unhappy and dead inside like she used to be. He has lost the battle for his own self control, but he won't surrender hers to himself any longer. It is time to let Valerie Frizzle act independently of him, move on, cut off that obnoxious heartfelt link. If her mind had just stayed neatly shut, she'd be fine. Now he has to try and ignore what he's feeling. The fact that it's for her own sake is, he thinks, supposed to help him. This is supposed to be hard yet doable.

So why is he fighting so hard to get his words out?

"You do realize it's over between us, right?" are the first words out of his mouth when he regains some measure of control over himself. He does not look at her, or even look to see if she's listening. (She is. He can feel it. If he breathes deep and tries he can sense where she's looking down to the exact object.) "Your life is here now. You can't come back. You're retired, so it's not as if this means anything."

"Ah, I don't think so!" she sang the last two words, beaming brightly at him. "If it was, you wouldn't be here right now."

Despite his blue-green colorblindness, he focuses on the grass and sky. He wants to say something. He should say something, anything, shut her up, shoot her down, reject her. Sasha briefly wonders if perhaps he has gone completely insane. Telepaths were always the first to go, right? Maybe this is just him going mad. Then he glances at the cactus and planet print dress Valerie has on and decides that no, he's not quite mad. This is sick and wrong, but he's not insane. So he has to keep this together, for both of them.

Oh, fuck it, he thinks suddenly, and on sheer impulse, he kisses her.

There are two things happening right now. One is that his brain is screaming at him. He's a moron, this is dumb, this is stalking, this isn't right, he could lose his job, blah blah blah. The other thing that's happening is that he's completely forgetting that in a sea of psychic sensation. There is a reason psychic children are so eager to kiss one another and so rarely do anything else. Even in adults, the fact remains that putting two brains so powerful so close together generates a kind of euphoric electricity, a paralyzing energy that shuts out the rest of the world. He can't think. He can't even breathe. Everything ceases to matter.

She pulls away triumphantly. "I told you this means something." Her hands intertwine with his. "Just because I'm a little teeny weeny bit different now doesn't mean this can't work."

"I stalked you," he pointed out, stunned. "That's not right. I should probably be locked up or something."

"You meant well," Valerie shrugs and smiles. "And you took care of me."

Stop it stop it stop it, his brain screams. Run away from the rogue Psychonaut now before Headquarters finds out. There is no possible way he could ever have a relationship with her. If anyone ever found out, it would mean his job and her new life. He has to be calm, logical Agent Sasha Nein, who does not ever make mistakes and always does the right thing. He has to be Agent Nein, cold, uncompromising and situationally unsympathetic. He can go drink this off later. A few bottles of vodka and this wouldn't even exist. It was what he should've done a long time ago.

But he's already lost Valerie once. He can't lose her again, regulations and job security be damned. In his lifetime he's had his brain removed and put back in, been tortured with nightmare gas, been shot through the spine and watched helplessly as his ten year old apprentice took on a psychic death tank. He can't take any more loss and he's tired of sitting around moping. This is a very un-Sasha-like revelation to be having, he realizes somewhere in the back of his mind. Maybe some of the Frizz's taking-chances-thing is transferring over psychically. Logically he should keep his head far away from hers.

He rests his head up against hers, sighing and smiling in spite of himself. "Well, this is a complete and total disaster."

"Just like old times," she returns happily. "But it's fun."

He kisses her on the cheek, briefly, and knows this won't end well. He knows eventually they'll be found out and the whole thing will blow up in his face. Until then, however, he has her, and Sasha Nein is more than willing to put love before regulation.

Just like old times.