since feeling is first - one.

[longsufferingly]

It starts with a dream.

Jared's dreams have always been outlandish, ever since he can remember. He used to have dreams where he flew over the community, just himself, no plane beneath him. In the Ceremony of Twelve, the Chief Elder had cited those very dreams as the reason he was placed as a pilot. Even now, it's what he dreams of, usually.

Except not today.

The dream today is different, everything vivid in a way Jared can't quite explain, somehow changed from the world he knows without any of the trappings being different. He is in a room, with another boy, and there is--a dog.

Jared's comfort animal was a dog, a soft, floppy-eared, black-eyed thing that Jared hated to part with. It slept on his bed and he sometimes spoke to it, even though his mother told him he shouldn't.

This dog isn't like his comfort animal--it's alive. It moves, and makes noise, and its tongue is wet on his face, a shocking, strange contact. Nothing has ever felt like that before, not even the water, because there's the texture of the dog's tongue too, and a different quality to spit than water, and a thousand other things. And the feeling is so real, too, even though it's a dream.

The other boy is playing with the dog too, but Jared knows the dog is his, and the other boy does not have a dog. The other boy is jealous of him, and Jared's gut twists with the feeling of it--he feels proud that he has a dog and the other boy does not and guilty for taking pride in it all at the same time.

When Jared wakes up, his chest feels full, like he might burst open. He almost asks for medication, but the feeling isn't pain, it's just strangeness.

He gets dressed weighed down by a feeling of apprehension--he doesn't know what he'll say when he recounts his dream for the other unmarried adults today.

At first, when he moved out of his family unit and into the housing for the unmarried adults connected to the air field, he was frightened of sharing his dreams with them, unsure about admitting his innermost thoughts to those outside his family unit. When the time came, however, he realized his fears were groundless--these were other adults he had worked with before, during all his trainings, his friends. He admitted during the sharing of feelings that first night his shame that he had doubted them, and himself, and Jensen had told him that almost everyone had the same fears, beginning their new lives.

"Good morning, Jared," says Jensen, pulling him from his thoughts. Jared smiles, trying to ignore the strange feeling in his chest. He doesn't want to upset Jensen with his unsettled mood.

"Good morning, Jensen."

Jensen is an engineer who works at the air field--his specialty is aerodynamics. Although Jared has never been mechanically minded, he enjoys hearing Jensen speak about the work he does. Right now, he's designing a more efficient wing for the cargo planes, like the one Jared flies, so it's easy to talk about. Jensen is his best friend in the house, and probably in the whole community, and Jared has been steadfastly not admitting--to Jensen, or anyone else--how unhappy he is now that Jensen has applied for a spouse. He knows Jensen is older than him, and the time has come for him to start a family unit of his own, and of course he'll still see Jensen at work, but Jared will miss having him in the next room, and at the morning and evening meals.

"Did you sleep well?" asks Jensen, falling into step with him as they go to the dining area.

"Yes," Jared says, after a minute. He looks at Jensen. "But I had a strange dream."

Jensen smiles. "Stranger than usual?" he asks. Jensen admitted once to Jared that he had never been sufficiently trained away from rudeness at school, and asked him for chastisement when he failed to uphold social protocols. Jared has, shamefully, not done well with this request. He enjoys Jensen's teasing. "I look forward to hearing it."

Jared smiles back. "Did you sleep well?" he asks.

"Restlessly," Jensen admits. "I couldn't stop worrying about my inspection."

Jensen's feelings at the evening meal for the last week have all been about his upcoming inspection, when the supervisors will come to the field to see how his designs are progressing. Jensen is worried he's made insufficient progress, and they'll be unsatisfied with him.

"I don't think anyone's ever been released for not doing well on an inspection, Jensen," Jared says gently.

Jensen laughs at that. "I could always be the first. And then I'd be the cautionary tale for all the Elevens and Twelves."

"I'd tell my children about you," Jared agrees.

"Good morning," says Aldis, another one of the pilots. Jared knew of him in school, and while he likes him, he resents having his and Jensen's conversation interrupted.

"Good morning, Aldis," says Jensen, apparently without any conflict. The two of them chat easily as they continue down to the meal room, Jared remaining mostly quiet, still thrown off by the dream. He felt--happy in it. As if he belonged. He felt a strong connection to the dog, and to the boy with whom he was playing.

He finds, suddenly, that he misses the dream world. That it felt more alive than this world does.

Aldis goes into the meal room, but Jensen stays for a minute. "Are you all right, Jared?" he asks, concern clear in his voice. "You're quiet."

Jared smiles. "I'm just thinking about my dream," he says. "It was a nice one."

"Nice and strange," says Jensen, laughing. "This I have to hear."

The telling of dreams is as usual as it comes to Jared. Aldis dreamed of the ceremony they had the other day, the one for the passing of the Receiver, who had disappeared without any explanation only a few days ago. Jared had been taken from his regular cargo run and sent to fly over the countryside, to see if he was somewhere in the outlying fields, but no one had found any sign of him.

The loss of a member of the community, especially such a respected one, and so young, is always hard, and Jared expects Aldis too feels responsible for not finding him in their search. he joins the rest of the group in assuring Aldis they are feeling his loss keenly.

Jensen dreamed of his inspection, no surprise to anyone, and even he adopts a wry smile as he talks about it, clearly tired of the subject. Everyone assures Jensen he'll do well, and he laughs and thanks them for listening.

"I was young in the dream," Jared starts, hesitantly. "I must have been a nine or a ten. And I wasn't here, or in my family unit's home, I was somewhere else. It was different." He shakes his head. "I can't explain it. I was with a friend, but not a friend I ever had, and we were playing with--an animal. A dog, like my comfort animal. But it was alive, and we were playing with it." He shrugs again, uncomfortable. "We threw sticks and it chased them, and it jumped on us. It was very dirty." He doesn't add that it was fun too.

It's Jensen who speaks first--Jared can tell no one is quite prepared, that they don't know the protocol. None of the things are true, of course, they aren't real, but it's a dream, and it isn't supposed to be real.

"Thank you for your dream, Jared," Jensen says gently, and like that, everyone feels free to move again. Jensen is the oldest in the group and has a kind of unspoken authority. Jared feels lucky to have him on his side.

The next to share is a mechanic named Kyle, and Jared does his best to pay attention, but it's difficult. Jensen gives him a small smile, reassurance, and Jared feels the strangeness in his chest, the not-hurt, and looks away.

*

Jared is just getting ready to ride over to the air field when the speaker crackles into life on the wall. "Attention," the speaker says gravely. "Will all citizens who reported strange dreams please report to the Auditorium. You are excused from school and work."

The voice is old, weary--not the usual speaker.

Jensen raises his eyebrows, looking over at Jared. "You weren't the only one," he says, sounding interested.

"No, apparently not."

He can tell Jensen wants to ask more, but he must realize Jared has no answers, because he just smiles and mounts his bicycle. "I'll see you later, Jared," he says, smiling.

"Try not to worry too much," he tells Jensen. He thinks he'll be as relieved as Jensen will be when the inspection is finished tomorrow--he misses Jensen's easy smile and laugh. Everything has been a little strained this last week.

"Thanks," says Jensen, and takes off in the opposite direction to Jared, toward the airfield on the outskirts of the community.

Jared goes into town, passing others on their way to work, and finding more and more people going toward the Auditorium. He spots Sandra, a girl his age he was friends with in school, and she smiles at him.

"Are you heading to the Auditorium, or to work?" Jared asks her politely. They were quite close in school, but he finds he can't remember where she was assigned. He hasn't seen her for some time. They fell out of touch.

"To the Auditorium. What about you?"

"Me too," Jared admits. He wants to ask her about her dream, but it's tremendously rude to ask anyone such a personal question outside of the morning ritual, and he and Sandra would never share that particular part of their lives.

There are some adults who look rather shaken, pale and hollow-eyed, limping as they walk, and some children who must be brought by their parents, as they are unable to stop crying. Jared feels a growing sense of unease as they approach, wondering what it is that they'll find. There are so many in the group, more than fifty, and those are just those he can see now.

What could have happened that would change their dreams? He's never experienced anything like it. With the Stirrings, his parents explained that it happened to other people, but that had been dealt with quietly, easily. It was expected.

Jared still remembers his dream from the Stirrings--he and his friend Oliver going swimming together, but not with the rest of the class, just the two of them, and Oliver had said that maybe they didn't have to wear anything, since it was just the two of them.

Jared hasn't thought of it in years, and as he does he realizes with a strange, twisting feeling in his gut he forgot his pills this morning. He was so distracted.

"Jared?" asks Sandra. "Are you all right?"

"Yes," says Jared absently. "I apologize for ignoring you."

"I accept your apology," says Sandra. She pulls her bike over and parks it, and Jared does the same. "I hope we aren't late," she says, although Jared can see more people still arriving. There wasn't a set time for it, anyway.

They hurry in and take seats--there's no structure to it, no sitting with the right group. At the podium is not the Chief Elder, although Jared can see her sitting on the stage, but the Receiver of Memory. He looks older than he did only a few days ago, at the Ceremony of Loss for his successor. Jared feels abruptly sad for him--it must be very difficult.

It's a few more minutes before they begin, parents trailing in with wailing children, some too young to have bikes arriving out of breath, apologizing for being late.

"There is no need to apologize," says the Receiver. He clears his throat. "You are the first to experience something which will soon come to the entire community." He pauses, as if he has no idea where to begin. "You are free to discuss the contents of this meeting with anyone who asks. Soon, we will have a meeting of the entire community to share with them. We thought it best to begin with those who had already had the memories come to them. I believe your friends and family will not be able to understand what has happened without going through it themselves."

There's an undercurrent of confusion, of unsureness. Jared wonders how memories could have anything to do with this. That never happened--it's not one of Jared's memories.

"I know you are confused right now," says the Receiver. "I apologize. Some of you have had dreams that upset you, or hurt you. Some of you must be very frightened." He smiles weakly. "When we lost our new Receiver of Memory, we did not lose the memories he had received. Those must stay with us. These are the memories of our people, from long before any of us were born, and those dreams are the memories returning to us."

He pauses, seeming unsure how to explain, what to say. "There was a time, long ago, when things were different. Our entire community will be going through things we have never experienced." He looks over the crowd, an expression Jared can't describe on his face. "Not all of it will be bad. I apologize for those of you who had terrible dreams. I only hope that we will come out of this a stronger community. A wiser one."

Jared feels more confused than he had this morning--he's dreaming other peoples' memories? From a time when dogs were real?

"I know you have many questions. You may not know what they are yet. I will be here until the evening meal tonight. You may ask me whatever you wish. Anyone who needs counseling will be excused from their responsibilities. Superiors and instructors have been informed." He clears his throat. "The memories will not always be dreams. Your friends and family will experience them too. We will have to be strong, and we will have to be brave. But we will come through this."

Jared has so many questions he doesn't know where to begin, and when he looks at Sandra, he knows she does too.

The Receiver looks small and alone on the stage, old and so sad, and no one is approaching him at all. Jared feels suddenly sorry for him, and screws up his courage and approaches the stage.

"Sir?" he says hesitantly.

The Receiver looks up, a little surprised. "Yes?"

Jared bites his lip. "Were dogs really alive? Before?"

The Receiver laughs, surprised. "Yes. All the comfort animals were once real animals."

"Oh," says Jared. "What happened to them?"

The Receiver looks thoughtful. "It was decided they were dangerous to have in the community."

"But the dog was nice," says Jared. "It licked my face."

"Yes," says the Receiver. "They can be nice too," He looks like he might say more, but he doesn't continue. "It was a good memory?" he asks instead.

"I think so," says Jared. "I liked it. What are the bad memories like?"

"Painful," says the Receiver. "Beyond anything you can imagine."

Someone else approaches, and Jared goes. He pedals to work in time for the midday meal, and goes to find Jensen without really thinking about it. He and Jensen don't always eat together, but he wants to today. He knows Jensen was curious, and the Receiver did say they could explain to others.

Jensen is sitting alone--he usually does, Jared has noticed. Jensen confessed once that as a child, he was often chastised by his instructors for not being social enough. Jared found it hard to believe at first, because he and Jensen had always been good friends. But once he saw Jensen with others, he understood this wasn't normal. That Jensen is different when he's with Jared.

Jensen looks tired, which doesn't surprise Jared, but he also looks--upset. Like maybe he's been crying.

"Jensen?" he asks, sitting down. "What's wrong?"

Jensen looks up, surprised. He shakes his head. "I don't know," he says, eyes back on the table. "I was working, and then--I saw something. I don't know. I was all alone, and--" he shivers. "I don't know," he repeats.

Jared bites his lip. "It must have been a memory," he says, with a certainty he's surprised by.

Jensen looks confused, of course. "A memory?"

"The dream I had," Jared says. "It was--one of the memories of the community, I think." He sighs. "I apologize for being imprecise. I don't understand completely myself. When the Receiver of Memory, Jonas--when he was lost, the memories he had in him came back to the community. And they're coming to us. That's what the meeting in the Auditorium was."

Jensen looks wrecked, and Jared doesn't know what to do. He's never seen anyone so upset.

"Jensen," he says quietly. "We should go back to the Auditorium," he says, with more strength. "The Receiver would talk to you. Help."

"I have work to do," Jensen says weakly.

"You're excused," Jared says. "The Receiver told us."

Jensen gets up, shakily, and stumbles--Jared naturally goes to catch him, and the touch is strange, all up his side. He's never touched anyone outside of his family unit.

"I apologize," he says, instantly.

"I accept your apology," Jensen says, his reaction automatic. He gives Jared a shaky smile. "You don't have to come. I don't want to keep you from your work."

"I have questions too," says Jared, and it's true. "I think I'll be very unproductive today," he admits, knowing Jensen won't report him.

"All right," says Jensen, although Jared can see he's hesitant. He licks his lips. "I've never really been alone," he says finally, and it's strange, because Jensen has always been more alone than most people in the community.

"Come on," says Jared, unsure of what else to say. "The Receiver will be able to help."

Jensen walks closer to Jared than he should, closer than is proper. Jared doesn't comment on it, out of politeness, and because he doesn't really mind.

*

"You're back," says the Receiver, looking surprised. He's all alone in the Auditorium; everyone has tried to go on with their days.

"I thought there would be more people."

"The injured are resting," says the Receiver. "I'm sure more questions will arrive in time." He considers. "It's Jared, isn't it?" He looks to Jensen. "I'm afraid I don't know you."

"Jensen," he says. "I--had a memory. That's what Jared told me."

"What was it?"

"I was alone," says Jensen. He makes a face. "That seems so imprecise."

The Receiver laughs. "No, it isn't. I think it's probably the most precise you've ever been." He nods, mostly to himself. "I know the memory you mean. It's very hard to take the weight of it. I wish Jared could give you his puppy."

"Puppy?" asks Jared.

"Just like a young adult is a child, a young dog is a puppy," the Receiver explains. "The memory you had was of a puppy."

"I still don't understand why we don't have them anymore," Jared says. He'd like a puppy.

"Did you notice the puppy's teeth?" asks the Receiver.

"His teeth?"

"Dogs have particularly sharp teeth," says the Receiver. "When they're behaved, it's not a problem. When they aren't, they can cause great injury." He shrugs again. "So we no longer have dogs."

"Oh," says Jared, a little blankly. It's not what he expected.

"The two of you are living with the unmarried adults?" asks the Receiver, after a long silence.

"Yes," says Jensen.

The Receiver nods. "Are you rooming alone?"

"Yes," says Jensen. "There was a mechanic sharing with me, but he was recently assigned a spouse."

"I'm going to put in an order for Jared to be moved into the other bed in your room," the Receiver says. "It's possible the memory will return as a dream, and it would be better for you to have someone nearby if that should happen." He smiles gently. "I received it when I was living with my family unit. They were a comfort."

Jared nods. "Thank you, sir." His current roommate is a slovenly pilot named Chad, who has been chastised on more than one occasion for his failure to maintain his part of the room. Jared will be glad to be rid of him. Jensen is a huge improvement.

"Thank you, sir," Jensen echoes.

"I hope you get a good memory soon, Jensen," says the Receiver. "There are so many."

Jensen nods. "Thank you, sir," he says again, and they're dismissed.

*

Jared doesn't have time to do a supply run by the time he gets back, but one of his superiors was at the meeting and saw him, so everyone else is understanding. He offers to stay late to complete it, but one of the pilots-in-training, a promising girl named Miranda, picked up his share of the work. Jared is sent home without rebuke, but still feels oddly guilty.

As he gathers his things, he decides that his guilt comes from the fact that he had received a good memory. It had been surprising and disorienting, but he had only felt positive things in it, warmth and happiness and enjoyment. He had no excuse for being unproductive. Jensen had been so upset, and Jared had gotten to play with a puppy.

He decides to wait for Jensen outside of his office--he can hear voices inside, and assumes Jensen is talking about his coming inspection, and the work he missed. It's already late, but Jared doesn't want to make him go home alone tonight. He feels as if the Receiver charged him with keeping Jensen company, and it's an honor, maybe.

It feels like an honor.

Jared's stomach is rumbling by the time Jensen comes out, and he looks surprised to see Jared waiting.

"Jared?" he asks. "Is everything all right?"

Jared feels suddenly bashful. "Yes," he says. "I didn't want you to have to go home alone." He swallows. "I apologize for--"

"You don't have to apologize," says Jensen. He's smiling. "I appreciate your thinking of me."

Something flutters in Jared's chest, a small thing. It's like some part of him he didn't know about before is suddenly flying.

"Thank you for waiting," Jensen says, more softly, and Jared just says, "You're welcome."

*

By the time they get back, everyone else has finished with their evening meal, and Jared and Jensen are the only ones there. Jared is glad for it--as far as he knows, no one else has experienced any memories so far, and he doesn't know how to explain his feelings without explaining so much more. He doesn't think he could explain it anyway.

"I think you already know how I was feeling today," says Jensen, with a wry smile.

Jared laughs, feeling uncomfortable. "Yes," he agrees. He knows Jensen expects him to share, and he sighs. "I felt--guilty."

"Guilty?" Jensen asks. "Why?"

"Because I--got such a good memory," he says. "It isn't fair that yours made you so unhappy."

"Oh," says Jensen. He thinks for a long moment. "I think I would feel the same if that had happened to me," he says finally. "But I'm glad that you got a good memory. I wouldn't want you to be upset." He smiles. "And you didn't do anything wrong. The best would have been if we both got good memories, but we didn't."

"I know," says Jared. "But I was so unproductive today, and you worked so hard--"

"Jared," Jensen says, strongly. "I was able to work because you helped me, and took care of me. If you hadn't brought me to the Auditorium, I would probably still be in my office, not knowing what happened."

Jared feels his face warm, feeling bad for making Jensen admit that. He isn't the one who should need comforting.

"And it will be nice to have a roommate again," says Jensen.

"Soon you'll be assigned a spouse," says Jared, feeling even less happy about it than he had before. "Then you'll have plenty of company."

"Yes," Jensen agrees, and Jared doesn't think he sounds very happy about it either.

They finish up their meal and head back to their room--their room now, Jared thinks, and marvels at the strangeness of it. His things have already been moved--the Receiver must have ordered laborers to do it--and other than Jensen's bed being much neater than Chad's, it isn't much different. But it still feels like something special.

"It's nice to have it full again," Jensen says. His old roommate was David, a nice if slightly stand-offish man, and while Jared didn't miss him, he can see how even Jensen would miss the company. "The space was nice," says Jensen, "but this will be better."

Jared smiles. "Much."

*

Jared doesn't realize at first what wakes him, because it isn't a loud scream, like when his sister used to have nightmares. Instead, it's a quiet sound, whimpering, a wordless pained, hurt noise, and Jared thinks this is why he's here. To help Jensen.

He crosses the room to Jensen's bed, hesitant and unsure. He doesn't know exactly how to wake Jensen, he's never had to do this before.

"Jensen?" he whispers, and Jensen takes no notice. "Jensen?" he bites his lip. "I apologize for this," he murmurs, and reaches out to shake Jensen's arm bare arm. The touch sends a jolt through Jared's whole body--he's never touched anyone's bare arm, not even his family, and he's shocked by how Jensen's skin doesn't feel like his, how good it feels to have his hand on him.

Jensen opens his eyes, but he doesn't seem to be seeing. He looks terrified, like Jared has never seen anyone look, and he flails out for Jared, pulling him in. Jared overbalances and falls, managing to avoid hitting Jensen and just lands on the bed instead, next to Jensen.

Jensen curls into him, holds on like Jared is an extremely oversized comfort animal. His thin tunic does very little to hide the warmth of his body, and Jared feels like he might fly apart everywhere Jensen is touching him.

No wonder it's so rude to do this.

But once the shock wears off, it's really a little--nice. Jensen is warm, and he's quieted down, and Jared wants to move, but Jensen's arms are strong, and maybe Jared could get away, but he's sleepy and Jensen seems to like it, so he just lets himself fall asleep.

*

Jared dreams of being in the same room he was in with the puppy, only now he's himself, and he's with Jensen, and there is no puppy, so Jensen licks him instead.

When he wakes up, Jensen's face is pressed against his neck, and he feels--strange. He's tingling, and--stiff in his long sleep tunic. No, not completely. It's just--his privates are stiff, aching strangely, and he panics. Maybe this is a part of the memories, some strange hardening of his body, and Jared scrambles away from Jensen. It's difficult to walk like this, and he wonders what he's supposed to do. He's never heard of anything like it.

It's not time for the morning meal yet. Jensen isn't even awake. Jared retreats to his own bed, slipping under the covers, facing away from Jensen so he won't see. He didn't notice the same thing happening to Jensen, so maybe it's just him. Maybe it's been because it's been about a day since he had the dream. Maybe it happens to everyone who gets memories.

He reaches down to see how the skin feels--maybe there will be blood, like when he scraped his knee. It doesn't feel exactly like hurt, but it does ache.

It feels--strange. It's very hard, and warm, and when his fingers brush it, he feels tingles up and down his body, and suddenly all he wants is to do it again. He bites his lip and tries, stroking over more firmly, and he feels good, heat all through his body, a little like touching Jensen last night, but not. He's glad he doesn't have to describe this to anyone, because he doesn't know how he would with any kind of precise language. It's amazing, right up until the minute he feels blood on the tip and pulls back. He looks down at his hand, but--it's not blood. It's thicker, stickier, and that's all the reassurance Jared needs to try again. The slickness makes it easier to move, better, and he has to fight to keep quiet now, to not have Jensen come see what's happening, to--

Jared feels like he--he doesn't know, his body feels too full, there's too much feeling inside him, the idea of Jensen seeing, of Jensen touching too, trying to help, is too much, and Jared gasps and feels more of the slick white fluid over his fingers, on his bed, going everywhere, like all the sensation is shooting out of him.

He gasps, taking long minutes just remembering how to breathe, how to take in air. He looks down at his hand, at his bed, and wonders what, exactly just happened.

*

Jared tries to go back to sleep for the few hours he has before the morning meal, but he's thinking too hard, and all he can do is toss and turn. His bed is sticky, although he cleaned up as best he could, and his mind is too full of things.

He can't stop worrying about what he'll say during the sharing of dreams in the morning, for one thing. What's he going to tell them, that Jensen licked him? Even saying he had a dream about Jensen seems strange, especially since he doesn't know if Jensen will remember that Jared ended up in his bed for part of the night. And then his body's reaction when he thought of being discovered--the mere thought of it makes his gut twist, but not unpleasantly. He's still acutely aware of Jensen sleeping in the other bed, so close, and it's making him feel hazy and confused.

The memory hits him when he's awake this time, and between one blink and the next he's transported, in a place he's never been before, seeing things he doesn't understand.

He's in a community, but it doesn't look at all like his own. The buildings are tall, so high he can barely see the tops, and everything is dirtier, like the cleaning crew hasn't come in several weeks. It smells unclean, and all around there are people begging him for food, or water, or asking if they've seen people whose names he doesn't know. There are dogs here too, but they're thin, wasted, and Jared kneels down to pet one, wanting to comfort it, and the weak thumping of its tail, like it's happy to see him, makes Jared's whole chest hurt.

"Jared!"

Jared blinks, and suddenly he's back in his room, Jensen leaning over him anxiously, watching him intently. "Are you all right?" Jensen asks. He licks his lips, looks so afraid. "You're crying," he says.

Jared doesn't think he's cried since he was a six or seven, but when he reaches up, he feels the tears there, unmistakable.

"I had--another memory," he says. "I don't know what it was. Everyone was upset, and their community was horrible, and there wasn't enough food or water--"

"Hey, shh," says Jensen, softly, like he's calming a fretful newchild. "It's all right. It's not like that anymore. It's better."

Jared blinks. He hadn't thought of it like that before, but of course, that must have been all Jensen could think. Jensen had a bad memory, and he's happier. But Jared can't let it be as simple as that. He's never felt more alive than he has in the last day, never been more aware of every part of his body. And he was happy playing with his puppy, full of warmth like he might overflow.

And then this morning, so full of heat that he did overflow, and that was amazing too, incredible even.

"Jared?" asks Jensen, and suddenly all Jared wants is to pull him back in, to have him close like they were last night. To have Jensen's arms around him again.

"Yes," Jared says. "Of course." He smiles weakly. "I apologize for disturbing you."

Jensen looks away. "I should apologize. I--did I--I apologize for causing you discomfort last night."

"No," says Jared, a little too quickly. "I--you weren't in control of yourself," he amends. "I understand."

Jensen nods. "It's time to get up," he says, going behind his privacy screen to change.

Jared gets up himself, feeling exhausted and out-of-place. He goes behind his own privacy screen and changes himself, surreptitiously examining his privates to see if they seem any different. They don't, although when his fingers ghost over the flesh, he can feel it getting a little stiff again under them, and he quickly moves away, dressing himself instead.

It's no use, though--Jensen just walking beside him makes him remember how it felt to have him pressed up close, how his bare skin felt, how the dream-memory of Jensen jumping on him made him feel, and he's not sure if he's scared or excited for the thing to happen again.

But then, a strange thing happens.

He and Jensen grab their morning meal and their pills, and Jared swallows his down first, remembering that he'd forgotten in the excitement of yesterday. And in minutes, the feelings are just--gone. Jared can't feel the heat rushing through his body anymore, and he the sensation he felt when he touched Jensen is dull in his memory, flat.

"Are you all right?" Jensen asks. "You look--concerned."

"I'm just--" Jared says. "I forgot to take my pills yesterday," he says, because it's not a lie.

Jensen nods. "You're lucky everyone was so distracted by the memories to have made an announcement on the speaker."

Jared nods. He's never been sure if the periodic reminders are for specific individuals, or if it's just a general reminder. He found them useful when he first moved into the unmarried adults housing, and his mother was no longer there to remind him.

Maybe what happened with Jensen wasn't the memories at all. Maybe it was the Stirrings. But it hadn't been like that the first time. Nothing nearly so strong.

"I don't know if I can share my dream," he admits to Jensen. "I don't want to have to talk about what I saw again."

Jensen nods, all understanding, and says, "I know what you mean."

Fortunately, it's then that the speaker begins to talk. "Attention, all citizens are excused from the telling of dreams this morning. Furthermore, there will be no work today. Instead, all citizens are to report to the Auditorium for a discussion of the memories coming to our community."

Jensen smiles at Jared. "I guess they realized everyone would be struggling with that." He looks good, Jared thinks. Less haunted. But he doesn't look the same as he did before Jared took the pills. He's different in some indefinable way, and Jared wants to see him the other way. It's obviously the same Jensen, but the way Jared felt about him was--deeper. Jared liked it, and it frustrates him that he can't even really catch hold of the memory of his perception, that even that's gone.

The morning meal is finished quickly, with an undercurrent of nervous buzz about the meeting. By now, of the ten of them in their house, five have had memories come to them, and Jared is very glad it's not just him being questioned. Tom had a good memory--floating on his back in the water of a river somewhere, with warm light on his stomach and strange animals on the water.

Jared tells his good dream, the one about the puppy, and admits that he had a bad one too. He can tell they all want to ask him about it--all but Jensen--but politeness keeps them from pressing.

Jensen steps in and talks about his memory.

"I was--under somewhere," says Jensen. His voice is quiet, a little rough, but steady. "I think. I was in an oddly shaped room, with a jagged ceiling. I think it must have been under stairs. I could hear people running up and down them, and I was trying not to make any noise so the people wouldn't hear." He takes a breath. "I don't know who they were, but I think they wanted to hurt me. They had already hurt everyone I knew."

Jared stares. It doesn't sound like Jensen's memory from yesterday. It's something else.

He doesn't get a chance to ask until they're getting ready to go to the Auditorium.

"Was your dream last night a new one?" he asks, wishing Jensen had told him.

"Yes," says Jensen. He looks away. "I apologize for not telling you." He shrugs. "You weren't gone, and I felt better. And then I was worried about you."

"I accept your apology," says Jared. He doesn't look at Jensen. "I'm glad I could make you feel better." He swallows. "You have to get a happy memory soon," he says hesitantly.

Jensen shrugs. "It's not real. It's over."

He leaves it's better now unsaid, and Jared nods. "We should go," he says instead.

Jensen smiles. "Thank you for being here," he tells Jared, and doesn't sound automatic.

Jared can't help smiling back.

*

This meeting is a great deal like the last meeting, but more crowded. Everyone is there--Jared spots his sister Megan with the other food preparation staff, and realizes with a strange twist that he hasn't seen her since he moved in with the unmarried adults.

The Receiver is at the front of the room again, waiting as most people file out. Jensen raises his eyebrows when Jared hesitates. "You want to talk to him again?"

Jared nods. "I had a question."

"I can come with you if you want," Jensen offers. "Since we don't have work."

Jared licks his lips. He wants to ask about what happened this morning--he doesn't know who else he can ask, and he doesn't know how he'll feel about doing that with Jensen there.

At the same time, the Receiver frightens him a little, and he would like to have someone familiar with him.

"Yes," he says. "Thank you."

Jared lingers until the few people who are asking questions are gone, and the Receiver looks up and smiles at him. "I see you're back, Jared. Jensen."

Jared bites his lip. "We got more memories. But--something happened to me. I don't know if it was a memory or something else," he says hesitantly.

He can see Jensen looking surprised, maybe a little hurt that Jared didn't tell him. Jared wishes he had told him he could go.

"Go on," says the Receiver.

"I--forgot to take my pill yesterday," he says. "There was so much going on, it just slipped my mind." He shrugs. "And I think that made me feel--different? But it might have been the memories, too." He bites his lip.

He really should have told Jensen to go.

The Receiver looks between the two of them. "The pills serve to dampen your feelings. Particularly the feeling of desire," he says.

"Desire?" asks Jensen. He sounds curious.

The Receiver leans back. "I wish I could give you memories," he says. "It would make it easier to explain." He sighs. "Before we made the change to Sameness," he says, "individuals would choose their own spouses, based on their appreciation of a variety of factors. One of those was physical attraction."

Jared understands all the individual words, but they all come together into a sentence he can't quite figure out.

"They chose their own spouses?" Jensen asks, sounding curious. His eyes flick to Jared, and Jared realizes this is something else Jensen has been worrying about. His spouse assignment could come any day.

"Yes," says the Receiver. "But not everyone chose well, and so the process was taken over by the council." He looks at Jared. "The pills were developed to suppress desire, because it complicated the process. It was difficult to control."

"It--felt good," Jared says cautiously. He feels his face heat up with embarrassment. "Before, did anyone--were there family units with two male parents? Or two female?" He tries very hard not to look at Jensen.

"In some places, yes," says the Receiver. He looks at Jared, considering. "Come over here. I want to try something."

Jared goes, a little warily. The Receiver considers. "We should probably go into the back room, you'll need to lie down." He looks at Jensen. "You can come too."

Jensen nods, smiles at Jared. "Come on," he says, and he doesn't seem angry.

"I've never tried this before on someone who hasn't been chosen as the next Receiver," the Receiver says. "I don't know if it will work at all." He smiles at Jared. "Your eyes are sometimes a little blue, in the right light."

"Blue?" asks Jared. His eyes are just--his eyes.

"Pale," says the Receiver. "Like mine."

"Yes," says Jensen, "Jared's eyes do look pale sometimes." He looks embarrassed. "I apologize," he says.

"I accept your apology," says Jared distractedly.

The Receiver looks amused, but a little impatient. "Please don't apologize, it takes time. Just lie down, Jared." He thinks for a moment. "It would be easier if you're willing to remove your tunic."

Jared nods, feeling embarrassed. He doesn't look at Jensen as he pulls his tunic over his head. He hasn't been undressed in front of someone outside his family unit since he was learning to swim. It doesn't matter as much with the Receiver, for some reason.

"Now, lie down and close your eyes. I'm going to try to give you a memory."

It's a room in a house, with a family unit in it. It's messy, but not like the street was last night. The mess suits it, makes it inviting somehow. There are two children on the floor, one probably a nine and the other a four or five. They look different from each other--neither looks quite as Jared would expect, one's eyes are too wide, the other's more narrow, ones' lips too full, one's hair too dark. Jared is not one of the people, not this time--he's watching, he's not in the memory. The parents are both male, one sitting in the other's lap, a casual closeness Jared has never seen. His own parents rarely touched--he thinks spouses are permitted to, but he doesn't actually know. Until yesterday, he wouldn't have thought there was much point.

Desire, he thinks.

The man in the other man's lap leans down to press his lips against the other, a smile on his face. Jared wonders what that feels like, is shocked by the sudden wave of longing he has for that closeness.

It's short, and not as intense as the other memories, and he feels it flickering away before he comes back to himself, snatching at the pieces. It was--nice. Warm, like the puppy, but more.

"I see it worked," says the Receiver. "Good."

"What was that?" Jared asks. "The memory."

"A family," says the Receiver, and Jared notices the absence of unit when he says it. "I have many variations on the theme."

"What were they doing?"

"I don't think anything out of the ordinary. A night at home."

"Why did they--why were they so close? The males."

"It can feel good to be close to another person," says the Receiver. "I know it's usually embarrassing, but I think it could be pleasurable."

"Could be?"

The Receiver smiles wanly. "I never tried," he says. "Outside of the memories."

Jared swallows, looking over at Jensen. Jensen looks a little confused, and Jared wants him to understand too.

"Can you give him the memory?" he asks the Receiver.

"I don't have the memory anymore," the Receiver explains. "It's yours now."

"Mine?" asks Jared.

"I gave it to you."

Jared blinks. "So you lose it?"

"Yes. Once I give a memory, it's gone. That s why Jonas's memories came back to the community, and not to me. They were his."

"Well--can you give him something? He hasn't gotten any good memories yet," says Jared.

The Receiver looks surprised. "What was the one you had today?"

"Being alone again," says Jensen. "Under a stairway. I was afraid of something outside."

"I don't know if Jensen will be able to receive memories," says the Receiver, considering him. "But I can try. Get up, Jared, and let Jensen lie down."

Jared pulls his tunic back on, looking away as Jensen pulls his off. Once Jensen has lain down, Jared looks again. Jensen's back is smooth, the skin looks warm, dotted with small spots. Jared's noticed them on Jensen's face too, always wondered why Jensen has those and he doesn't, and what they are, but it would be tremendously rude to ask. Seeing them here, on Jensen's back, just makes him want to touch them.

Jared realizes, with a sudden clarity, that he's not going to take his pill tomorrow. And that he doesn't want Jensen to either.

He swallows.

"Close your eyes," the Receiver tells Jensen.

The Receiver puts his hands on Jensen's back, and Jared knows he has a good reason, but he still feels jealous. That the Receiver has an excuse to touch Jensen and he doesn't.

Jared watches as the Receiver closes his eyes and tries to give a memory to Jensen. Jared wills it to work, wanting Jensen to see--what?

Jared wants Jensen to think there were good things about before too. He wants Jensen to--

He doesn't know. He can't grasp it yet.

It's quiet for a few long moments, and then Jensen's eyes flutter open. He licks his lips and glances at the Receiver. "What was that?" he asks, his voice husky.

"A kiss," says the Receiver.

Jared can see Jensen swallow. "It was nice."

"Yes," says the Receiver. "I've been told they are."

Jensen clears his throat. "Was that a suggestion, sir?"

The Receiver looks at Jensen for a long moment. "With the number of memories that will be escaping into the community, I expect many individuals will be considering alternate perspectives," he says evenly. "This is the way things have always been for us. But it isn't the way it always has to be."

Jared wonders what, exactly, Jensen saw.

"We should go," says Jensen. "I'm sure others have questions for you."

"You are welcome at any time," says the Receiver. "I'm here to help everyone through this difficult time."

There's something about the way he says it that nags at Jared, a strange kind of phrasing that wasn't what he expected.

But Jensen is getting up and beckoning him to come, and Jared follows.

They walk their bikes home, slowly. Jared's lost in his thoughts, wondering what Jensen saw, and what the memories mean.

He wonders if things are going to change. He wonders if they can. After all, there are no dogs anymore. Those can't come back.

But if one thing changed, maybe everything would. Jared doesn't know how having a dog could lead to starving and pain, but he knows the two once happened at the same time. He saw that sad dog, the one that thumped its tail and then--

"Why did you ask that?" Jensen asks, quietly.

"What?" asks Jared, shaken out of his thoughts.

"I apologize, that was rude," says Jensen. He clears his throat. "You asked if there were ever family units with two--females as parents," he says, and from the way he falters, Jared is sure he wanted to say two males. "Why did you ask that?"

There are a lot of things that Jared could say that would be true. He looks down at the wheel of his bike, turning against the pavement. "I had a dream when I was--my first year as a pilot," he says. No one ever says when I was a thirteen. "About another male I knew." He licks his lips. "My parents said it was the Stirrings. I didn't know it had anything to do with picking a spouse. I thought everyone had dreams about--" he lets the sentence end. "I didn't know."

"Oh," says Jensen, quietly. He sounds a little disappointed. There's silence for another long moment before he says, "Mine was too." He doesn't look at Jared, walking a little ahead of him without turning back. "It wasn't a dream, I was just--one of the trainees at the air field," he says. "I don't even know his name."

"What happened?" Jared asks. He knows it's very rude, asking about something like that, but he feels like he and Jensen have given up on rudeness entirely lately, and they never paid it much heed before. He wonders if this is happening to everyone with the memories coming in, or if he and Jensen were just always teetering on the brink of something unacceptable and unnamed. "I thought it was always dreams."

"No," says Jensen. He laughs a little, softly. "I--it felt like a stirring. I was volunteering at the recreation center, and I was done for the day. The trainees were playing a game by the river, and one of them fell in. I ran over, because I was worried, but he came out of the water, he was soaking wet, and all his clothes were clinging to him. He was laughing." He looks askance at Jared. "He had," he pauses, puts his thumb against his cheek, mimicking the marks Jared gets when he smiles. "Like you," Jensen adds, looking away again. "I--I don't know what it was, but I felt hot, and something--strange happened," he says, with a gesture toward his privates, "and I hurried home. I told my parents when we shared our feelings, and they told me it was the Stirrings."

Jared swallows. He knows what Jensen must mean, and he feels something in his throat, a strange lump that keeps him from speaking. He doesn't know what to say.

"I--that happened to me," Jared says finally. "Last night."

Jensen looks back then, surprised and strangely--excited. "Last night?" he asks.

Jared realizes Jensen knows what he did last night. He was in Jensen's bed.

"Yes," Jared says. He swallows, forces himself to keep walking even though Jensen has stopped. "I don't think I'm going to take my pill tomorrow," he says, feeling bold. Like maybe, they're about to fall.

He hears Jensen start to walk again, a slow, easy pace. "No," Jensen agrees. "I won't either."

Part two.