Simon was a boob.

A good brother…though good struck her as being completely inadequate.

Any other word, great, marvelous, magnificent sounded overdone, trite.

Appropriate in the eyes of others.

But trite.

Like a mug, or shirt, or card given out on birthdays or graduations when the giver felt a gift or acknowledgement was required but felt no actual desire to give anything.

The words had been over used and now no longer had any meaning.

They were empty.

When they were new, they might have been appropriate to describe what Simon was to her, but now they were meaningless.

She could find no word that would adequately express the kind of brother Simon was to her.

Had spent 15.9 hours on the cortex looking.

It amazed her that out of all the languages on all the worlds that the universe had to offer there wasn’t a single word that could be used to describe Simon and his relationship with her.

She could describe him and herself.

There were words that she could use to describe their relationship.

Unhealthy.

Intellectually it was not healthy for a young man to spend all of his time worrying about his younger sister.

Parasitic.

The actual definition of a parasite was an organism living or feeding on another organism to the detriment of the host organism.

But these words were only an emotionless observation.

Observation made by an objective, heartless observer.

Words that had been in the operative’s mind.

He’d understood that Love was a threat.

But he’d not understood Love.

And he’d called their relationship many negative things.

Objectively she agreed with his summation.

But she couldn’t be objective about it for long.

Even before her dearly purchased lucidity she’d known what this had cost Simon.

Now she knew more.

He’d gone to save his baby sister.

The pixie, the laughing brat.

And gotten her.

She could remember what she had been before she had been shattered.

And knew that she would never be that again.

She remembered how