Disclaimer: I don't own it, don't profit by it, worship the creators, and would never, ever steal from them.

Author's Note: Fourth in a series of five vignettes on the theme "When you only have four senses, you make the most of them." This one is very early Season 1.

Quiet

In another lifetime, Nathan Wournos might have been a sociable man. But in the years since his affliction had returned, he had come to prefer silence.

Part of that, of course, was how damn much work it is to speak clearly when you can't entirely feel your own tongue. Part was how quickly he grew tired of "Oh Nate, I'm so sorry," with pity in the voice and speculation in the eyes.

And part was how going out with friends on a Friday night was suddenly an exercise in disconnection. How the loud, friendly embrace of happy voices became just distant babble without the heat, the sweat, the jostling of bodies, the cool beer on his dry throat. Rather than become a damn country music metaphor, he had started making excuses to skip Fridays, and, in stages, most other social occasions too.

Instead, he had found himself looking for places to be quiet. He stopped playing hockey and started avoiding the gym. Took up solitary projects in his own still house, turned to individual sports for exercise. He liked to hike, but even well-marked trails turned out to have too many pitfalls for the physically oblivious. Ten stitches and two sprained ankles later, he'd taken up golf. If he played alone and at unpopular tee times, there was no distance at all between the hiss of the wind and the crunch of his feet on the grass, the thwack of the iron and the cry of the gulls. The Chief's contempt for such a manicured sport was just a bonus.

His office was OK, too. It was never really silent in a police station, but the office walls and windows muffled the voices and phones to a distance that seemed at least…accurate.

That is, until Agent Audrey Parker took over the desk that Dom Trucci had left vacant when he retired 14 months before.

Parker was never quiet.

Parker never sat still. She fiddled, she fidgeted, she flipped things in her hands. The air was full of her movement: Rapid click of pen against fingernails. Slap of leather badge case against palm. Soft rustle of slacks against chair. Thud of elbows on desktop. Quick tapping of keyboard. Swish of hair through a ponytail holder, sometimes followed by a sharp ping and "Crap!" if the holder snapped when she pulled too tight.

Sometimes it flew across the room and hit him, though he usually didn't know it until she apologized.

Parker never shut up, either. She talked all day at him, in her husky alto. She questioned. She speculated. She theorized, suggested, and explained. She argued, pried, cajoled, and teased. She laughed. At him.

With him…

"Hello? Earth to Wournos."

When he looked up, startled, Parker continued, "I said, do you want to get some coffee?"

If Audrey got coffee by herself, the office would be quiet again, for a little while.

Nathan stood up, reaching for his coat. "Sure," he said.

Silence was overrated.

- end -