Hay hay! sorry for the slightly late update, I had my english lit exam today (waaaaa!) no, actually it went quite well :)

So heres a nice little moment between Erik and Evie for you!

ENJOY!

Somewhere over the Mid-Atlantic

1962

We had reached the airport, where my MI6 private jet was waiting, before the authorities; we only had the small contingent of security guards to deal with. I jumped into the cockpit and had only just started the engines set when the police came rocketing onto the runway where they met Erik who was hanging out of the jets door and pushed them back with one simple flourish of his hand before slamming the hatch shut.

I had flown the jet safely across France and landed quickly in Spain for a re-fuel and a short update to MI6 before setting off again and plotting the planes autopilot for Argentina.

I had changed out of my black apparel and into something more comfortable for the long journey we were about to undertake; a short sleeved cream turtle neck and a red tartan skirt did just nicely. I was now in the jets small toilet, staring back at my large green eyes in the mirror. My insufferably long, strawberry-blonde hair was being held away from my face by a red headband. I splashed my pale face with water.

What are you doing? I asked myself, Erik's sitting out there waiting for you . . . after eight years; he's finally the one waiting, not you . . .

I was nineteen the last time I saw him. I had a panic attack that day at the station. It was the day he disappeared - gone, wiped clean from the surface of the Earth, vanished, nowhere to be found – He left me. The man I had depended on for ten years, the man I counted as my brother, had abandoned me without any explanation. Nothing except a large sum of money and the apartment we shared in Cambridge, England.

After being evacuated to England from Germany, saying we were brother and sister, I took Erik's last name and we were fostered by a rich elderly pair who had no more children of their own; their only son had been killed during the war. They loved us and cared for us, our father was a language teacher and he could speak perfect German. He taught us English and I picked up the language quickly, seeing as I could listen to it all day through their thoughts.

We were inseparable - well, I wouldn't let Erik out of my sight for the first few months – so we were home schooled. By the time Erik was old enough to go to University, I was a confident fourteen year old who had replaced English as her primary language. I visited Erik every weekend at his apartment in Cambridge; we were there when we heard the news that our parents had been killed in a car accident, I was seventeen and he twenty-one. They had left us everything, including their house, but from then on I lived with Erik.

I had had a promising future before Erik disappeared. I was an undergraduate studying Biology at Cambridge University; he had just completed a Masters in engineering. That day I woke up and found the bulging envelope of cash and the bank details of our foster parents account, the deeds to their house and his keys lying on the kitchen top; I dared not move the keys for weeks.

I took a deep breath and flattened down my skirt and hair, and then I walked out of the bathroom.

"There you are," he exclaimed, turning around to face me from the cushioned seat, "I thought you'd flushed yourself down the toilet, I was about to come and look for you," he added genially, smiling.

"Nope, just powdering my nose," I said a little too harshly, as I walked past him and sat down in the seat across from him.

I studied him now, with my jaw set and resting on my hands with my elbows on the table between us. He had aged considerably and become more . . . rugged - not 'dirty' rugged - but . . . tough. He had an aloof and mysterious predatory air about him when once it had been carefree but resolute. He was no longer clean shaven but sported a rusty stubbly beard, his reddy hair was smoothed over and he wore a navy blue jumper.

He frowned at me, confused by my glaring confrontation.

"I should be mad at you," I mused, tapping my fingers against my cheeks and scowling.

He didn't reply, he just quickly diverted his eyes and stared out of the window at the rolling expanse of deep, blue, ocean beneath us. I could feel his frantic thoughts moving around inside his head.

"Why?" I asked him softly as I placed my hands on the table and tilted forward ever so slightly.

He knew exactly what I was asking and I saw his eyes and thoughts flicker as he contemplated an answer.

"I don't know," he answered just as quietly, his chatty demeanor now replaced by a hostile defense.

I scoffed and struggled to correct the sudden grief I felt rising in my chest, "I'm not a child any more, Erik, so don't give me that bullshit," I sneered, and leant closer, "Why did you leave me?" I asked him again, but his time my tone was more demanding.

His eyes darted to me, he didn't answer me just searched my face apologetically.

I looked away from him and out the window instead, I was wounded by his lack of justification and looking in his eyes I could feel the distress of all those years without him intensifying, "I had a panic attack, right there, in the middle of the station," I said quietly to the window purposefully trying to make him feel guilty.

"You came after me?" he said gently, I heard the somber empathy in his voice as he leant forwards, suddenly shocked.

"Of course I went after you-!" I said; trying to laugh but the air got caught in my throat.

I quickly looked away, out of the window again, and covered my face with my hand so he couldn't see me blink back the annoying tears.

We sat in silence while I composed myself. Then I felt his hand wrap around mine on the table between us. I hesitated for a long moment before looking at him. He was leant forwards, holding my hand gently in his and his face expressed regret.

"I'm sorry," he said strongly, he meant it, I felt the sorrow seeping from his thoughts, "Evie, I'm so sorry, I regretted it as soon as I left-"

"Then why didn't you come back?" I breathed and then gulped; painfully swallowing my tears.

His eyes widened on seeing me struggle, he squeezed my hand, "Because I had to leave, I had to find him - find all of them – You must understand. I had to get rid of the people who ruined our lives, Evie-"

"But we were happy – safe," I stammered heatedly, "They weren't there with us in England, Erik-!"

"They were with me," he renounced forcefully, I frowned in irritation, and my eyes blurred as they watered with anger, "A single day doesn't go by where I don't think about what they did to me - what they did to you-" he stopped, unable to carry on.

Then I gasped as I felt his sudden thought of overwhelming remorse and guilt wash over me as he hung his head in anguish. He thought himself worthless and undeserving to even look at me and I watched in agony, unable to move, overcome by his sudden torrent of feeling, as he clutched at my hand and breathed heavily, trying to calm himself.

The tears rolled down my cheeks as I watched him deteriorate in front of me.

Then he raised his head and looked at me - his blood-shot eyes were begging me to understand - to forgive him- "He killed my mother, Evie." He pleaded; it was all he could manage before he hung his head again.

Tears streaked his face and then my heart tore as I thought of how selfish I had been. He had his own life, he wasn't placed on this Earth to constantly be at my side; he had been through exactly what I had but more. Where I had blocked out the memories he had been forced to remember them. How could I not have known? Then it hit me. That was why he didn't want me reading his thoughts when we were younger.

I broke out of the sudden crush of emotion and positioned my hand under his chin and raised his head to face me, I tried to smile, to show him that I forgave him but it cracked as my heart broke again at seeing his tormented tear stained face.

"I forgive you," I avowed and through my tears I managed a warm smile as I held his head in my hands and wiped his cheeks dry with my thumb.

I know it sounds cliché, but as soon as I said this, he seemed to relax, his body loosened; a huge weight seemed to lift from his shoulders.