Thank you for all your continuing support with these. They are often more of a challenge for me to write than the action. The vignette after this one should please many of you, so stay tuned :)

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February, 2039

Christine liked to sit on her knees atop the couch cushions, pull back the curtains slightly, and watch the people pass by. It made her feel connected to the outside world. Sometimes someone would see her and nod or smile. But most people strolled by without a glance, lost in their own thoughts, unaware of what, or rather whom, was right under their noses.

They had been in England for a month now. Erik had purchased an inconspicuous brick home in north London, containing three bedrooms with polished wooden floors and a cozy kitchen. He had let her choose how to decorate it, and she had gone with lavender and light green colors for her own room. Erik's furniture consisted of dark wood, deep blues, and blacks. Christine knew that Erik had wanted to live farther away from other people, but he had recognized how much isolation would harm her. He had said, "We will have neighbors. But I am creating a very fast exit plan in case of dangers. If I ever come to you in the middle of the night and order you to pack your things—that will be it."

She had agreed to this, knowing it was her presence more than his that put them at risk. Still not brave enough to leave by herself for this reason, Christine merely watched the people pass by. Children and elderly couples holding hands and individuals walking a wide assortment of dogs. Erik had never told her it was too dangerous to go out. She just hadn't asked yet.

As she struggled for identity, Christine knew he was quietly fighting his own demons. They rarely talked about what had transpired that autumn, but she did see him watching the news, his hands curled on the armrests. From what she had heard, there was primarily good news coming out of her home country. The stock market had shot up after artificially being forced down for the last several years. Scientists, economists, and other highly educated expatriates were returning to the United States to help sort everything out. The former Community members were given aid and counseling, and only a handful of them were still convinced that this had all been a conspiracy to take down the 'honorable' Cameron Lourdes. And, while the U.S. government still assured everyone that the main perpetrators would be caught, they clearly had little to no information regarding Erik.

He watched it all silently and without a clear expression. Was he feeling remorse? Or was he simply keeping an eye on the situation for their own security? It never seemed appropriate to ask. Christine would only distract him if he seemed too somber.

And, really, giving Erik a little bit of sunshine seemed to be her only duty. She would occasionally attempt to cook a meal or tidy up their spaces, but Erik requested nothing of her. He was still the competent one in all this-while she huddled uselessly inside like a frightened bunny.

One cloudy Tuesday, Christine left the window and sauntered to Erik's room. She could hear him playing with the composing software, dulcet notes emanating from the speakers. They'd have to buy a piano soon.

"Erik?" She poked her head inside. He only closed the door at night.

He looked up. "Yes?" The evidence of love was still so very present in his eyes. In every other action, he held back. But he couldn't hide the warm yellow glow in his gaze.

"We're…out of some things. So I'm going to the store to get more."

A pause. "Do you want me to go?"

"No," she said. "I'd like to. It's not very far away. Unless you think someone might recognize me."

He hesitated. She was vaguely aware that, if Erik did want to isolate her, he could always lie and say it wasn't safe. In choosing to go with him, she had surrendered a great deal of control. Because of love and because of hope. After he hesitated for several more seconds, she was vindicated. "I think you are safe if you wear your wig. Do not forget your identification." He knew this was not about the groceries. They both did.

"I'll be back soon."

"Be careful. Take the phone." He stared out after her.

Christine had a vision in her mind in which, the second she stepped outside, she'd be swarmed by police. Of course, that didn't happen. No one glanced up. Two boys ran past her, arguing over something to do with a dog and a carwash. Nervousness settled in her stomach as she walked down street for several blocks, placing her cold hands in the velvety pockets of her coat. But nothing extraordinary happened. She went into the store, keeping her eyes down and never looking anyone directly in the face. Grabbing a basket, she bought milk, eggs, and cereal. She bought a candy bar as well, a sort of reward for making the trip. Then she grabbed a second one for Erik. She didn't even know if he liked chocolate.

He was waiting in the kitchen when she returned, reading a book at the table. Only a slight tapping of his shoe gave away that he was nervous. She smiled brightly and held up her sack, slipping off her sneakers and taking off her coat. "I was so afraid someone would recognize me. But no one looked twice."

"People are more concerned with the happenings of their own country," he agreed. "And your name and face have begun to disappear from the press. Perhaps Chagny had a hand in that."

She blinked. They rarely spoke her friend's name throughout the journey. Christine thought about him occasionally, wondering how he was faring. She supposed the one thing she missed about Raoul was how he was an open book, so very easy to talk to. Erik was often closed off, and this made her feel a little lonely at times.

She placed the chocolate bar in front of him. "You don't have to eat it if you don't want. I never know what you like. You sneak around at night eating food, don't you?" Her tone slightly teased.

"I have odd habits. But I will enjoy this. Thank you." His thank yous were always very stiff, as though he wasn't accustomed to saying the phrase.

Christine pulled out a bowl and some oat cereal from the cabinets. She pulled the cap off the milk and caught a whiff of something foul. She leaned in closer and sniffed the white liquid. "Ugh." Erik glanced up and gently took it from her. "It's spoiled, isn't it?" Christine asked with dismay.

"It is…fine."

She scoffed, feeling a little patronized. "No, it's not."

"Well, this date, Christine. It indicates that it is passed an expiration date. So that is why."

"Oh." She sat at the kitchen table and put her chin in her hands, staring downward with a frown.

"It is fine," he repeated. "Are you so unhappy over this? I will go right now and buy more."

"No. Or not because of-" She sighed. "Erik, it doesn't have anything to do with you or the milk. Sometimes I just feel very inept. I guess I thought that after I was out of the Community and had some freedom-well, suddenly I would just be able to do everything without a problem. Silly, huh?"

"You are still young. And you are in a foreign country. And you were kept even more infantilized than normal for the last twelve or so years."

"But you made it on your own."

"Yes, but I had no choice. If you were placed in a situation where you either had to grow up quickly or die, you would figure out how to survive. You believe bringing back sour milk to be a great crisis? What if you had to sleep beneath a bridge? Or sell drugs to purchase food? I would prefer to protect you from such an initiation into life."

"I'd prefer you did, too," she replied. She placed her hand over his. "You've been very good to me these past months. I'm very grateful. I…wouldn't have gotten this far without you." He abruptly left the kitchen, and she figured he was rightfully tired of her sulking. But he soon returned with a laptop.

"Do you still want to teach?" he asked.

"I think so," she replied. "Either that or counseling."

"Counseling? You are living with me. Isn't that enough insanity for you?"

"I don't think you're crazy." She looked at him purely with concern. "But do you not feel well, Erik? In that way?"

"I am jesting. I am fine." He gestured to the screen. "Let us begin looking at this." He calmly explained the education system to her, the tests she would need to take to prove certain competencies in math and English. She didn't even have a high school diploma from the U.S. Most of her education had come unofficially through Erik. Then she would need a degree and teacher training.

"I'm going to be kind of behind, huh?" She felt slightly overwhelmed.

"Yes. But we will progress. You must start somewhere, if this is what you want."

"It is." She looked at her hands. "I feel like, if I want to help people, the best place to start is with children. Isn't that where it all begins?"

Erik shifted as though he were uncomfortable. "I suppose so." He stood. "That is enough for tonight."

He lingered, and she knew he was waiting for his kiss. Smiling, she stood and removed his mask. It was silently understood that this was the only time of day she would do it without asking. Putting her hand behind his head, she deepened the kiss until he pulled back as he always did. After retying the mask, he slowly turned and walked away, laptop closed and tucked beneath his arm.

A loneliness lingered as his door closed with a soft click, a distance. There had been several times when she'd nearly asked him to come to her bedroom. Nothing had to happen or didn't have to happen. Sometimes she just wanted to sleep in his arms. And then—there were other things that she had less experience with. She remembered her last passionate kiss with Raoul and wondered what it would be like to have Erik pressed up against her on the bed, his cool skin against the tips of her fingers. She wanted to touch him without him pushing her away. She wanted more of him day by day.

But- she knew what he needed to hear from her before that step was taken. From books and television shows, Christine was now well-aware that many, many men did not want what Erik needed. They kissed and bedded women with no ties or obligations. Cameron had condemned this behavior frequently in his speeches, but she supposed, without judgment, that some people were simply happier with this lifestyle.

But not Erik. So she went to bed alone until she could give him what he needed. He never knew that, if he had only asked to come in, she would have accepted him with open arms. He never did; her door remained painfully closed. So did his door.

It was time to begin her life. Christine quickly returned to her studies and made plans for both summer and autumn classes and exams. She learned the transportation systems, both the buses and rails. Erik offered to help her learn to drive, but it was no longer a major necessity for her independence. She began to look people in the eye as she passed and stopped feeling like she was from a different planet.

But while she began to make changes, Erik remained relatively the same in his habits. He would help her whenever she asked, cook for her, accompany her on walks or outings, and then often—hide away in his room during the nights and evenings. And sometimes the afternoons. Tired of this pattern, she finally followed him. Christine cautiously opened the closed door and found him bent over his computer. He looked up at her in surprise.

"Hello, Erik."

"Do you need something?"

"What are you working on?" she asked, looking at the screen. "Music? Or something else?"

"I dabble here and there," he said with a shrug. Then stiffly added, "Nothing…sinister, I assure you."

"I didn't think you were doing anything sinister," she said with a sad smile.

"Is there something you need?"

"No. I just came to see you." She sat on the edge of the bed. It looked like he never slept in it, always perfectly made and devoid of wrinkles. His habits were still a mystery to her.

Erik seemed as though he were going to try to ignore her and resume his work. His hands dropped into his lap. "What do you want? You must want something. Simply say it."

"It's just…you take care of me. And listen to me whine. And help me whenever I ask. But you're still so quiet. I don't know what to make of you. You're either helping me or hiding away."

"What ever do you want me to do?"

"Nothing," she said. "Nothing, Erik. Except maybe tell me what's on your mind. Are you happy?"

"Of course I am," he said. "I have told you that."

"Do you still feel bad about what happened? I'm not accusing you or trying to bring it up. I just see you watching the news. Or reading articles."

"It does not matter."

She touched his shoulder. "But it does, Erik. I want you to have peace, too. I feel very lonely when you push me away. So I guess I do need something from you. Some connection."

He was silent for a long moment, head tilted downward. Finally, he spoke in a low voice. "I feel…as though I entered another life months ago. Yes. As though I died and then entered another life. That is the only way to describe it."

"I see. Sometimes I feel the same way."

"But the truth of the matter is-I did not do that. It is the exact same life. I did those…things that are all over the television. The poverty and terror. Had Cameron won, he likely would have begun mass executions of all those who disagreed with him. And I know I must have been very, very angry. My memories of that period are bathed in red and orange."

"You were angry," she softly agreed. "That night you told me about your past—you were so furious at everything. I barely knew what to say. But you came through in the end."

"Yes. I remember all of it. But it feels like a second entity existed. And that makes me feel…unwell in my mind at times." He slowly glanced up at her. "And then I still wonder sometimes how you are here. After all that. And what you do. You kiss me every day when you have every reason to despise me. Sometimes I wonder if I created a very lifelike digital version of Christine."

"I promise I'm real."

"I know you are. Nothing I created could ever be so lovely."

She gently rubbed his shoulder. "Do you still hate them? I mean, hate people outside of me?"

He took a long time to answer. "No. I feel…indifference, I suppose. For a moment, I considered lying to you and saying I was suddenly fond of mankind. That is what you want to hear, isn't it? Yet I do not think you would have believed it."

"No," she murmured. "But, Erik, if I had had your life. Well. I'm not sure I would like people very much either. They can be very cruel. I've seen that."

"Now I simply want to be left alone and enjoy your company."

"It seems like we're pretty safe here, Erik. You think?"

"I believe so."

"Is there anything I can do?" she asked. "For you?" An idea came to her, and she gently took both shoulders and began to rub them. She could feel the tension that was hidden behind all his nonchalant gestures and indifferent tone. A soft sound escaped his hidden lips.

"You do enough," he murmured. "Simply continue your studies. You of all people in this world deserve joy, and I will make sure you have it."

As she massaged his shoulders, she took a peek at his work. Half-written compositions and computer programs. Half-written everything. Even if she couldn't understand the notes and codes, she could somehow sense frustration within them. Did he need her help in finding his way as she needed his help? This was her first thought—that he simply needed some inspiration.

Lifting her hands from his shoulders, Christine gently wound her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek. She nearly said it at that moment, whispered the phrase into his ear. Before she could utter the words that would change everything, though, he moved away. In retrospect, she was glad that it happened as it did. The moment slowly led her down the path to an important epiphany.

He looked at her, tilted his head, and said, "You do not look right."

"Excuse me?"

"You look ill. Is that why you are behaving oddly?"

She thought it to be some weird distraction. But it wasn't; somehow Erik could tell more quickly than she could. By the following morning, Christine had a very nasty cold that kept her in bed with chills, aches, a sore throat, and an awful headache. He came into check on her throughout those several days, bringing her whatever she requested with a nervous glint in his eyes. Feeling her heart warm at his care, she said, "I hope you don't catch it. I don't think I could ever take as good of care of you as you take of me. But I'd try."

"I do not get sick," he replied. "My immune system is its own sort of monster."

It was while she was staring at the white walls, annoyed at being in bed for so long, that a wonderful thought occurred to her. "Erik!" She jumped out of bed, feeling lightheaded but rushing forward anyway. "I just thought of something!"

"Was it the color of your casket?" he asked with slight alarm as she ran into his room and grabbed his arms.

"I thought of something you could do," she said, tucking an arm around his neck for support. "I was lying in bed and feeling frustrated. And then I thought about people who are stuck in bed for months. Or years. Or forever! Erik—you could take them places."

"What are you talking about?"

"Your software. People who can't leave their homes could go everywhere. The mountains. The oceans."

"I see."

"I know you don't need money. But it just seems like you could have fun doing something like that."

He ran a hand through her hair. "I would have to find channels of distribution without giving out too much information about us. But if it pleases you, maybe it is possible."

"Won't it please you?" she asked, her head pounding.

"It is an idea. Let us return you to your bed. That would please me greatly."

She felt a tug of disappointment that her idea wasn't the inspiration he needed. Erik did pursue the project. But, again, he was doing it for her and not for himself. She had begun to move forward with her goals, but Erik seemed stifled and uninspired. Several days later, though, it finally became painfully clear as to why this was happening.

He was working on the software, asking her opinions now and then about graphics and sound effects. His eyes seemed dull, and his posture was almost slumped. Hoping to encourage him, she made the comment, "I know kids will love this. Imagine sick children in their rooms who never get to go out. It'll be great."

"Try being confined as a perfectly healthy child," he muttered beneath his breath so that she could barely hear him.

"What?"

"Nothing." He shook his head. "That may be enough for now. My mind is tired of this."

But she wasn't going to let it go, not when Erik so rarely slipped up and revealed information about himself. "What did you do when you were a kid?"

"Nothing."

"Erik, you're being very distant again."

"No, I am simply telling you the truth," he snapped. "I did nothing. My father traveled. My mother avoided me. Or she was usually too drugged or depressed to even take care of herself. Much less her hideous child."

"So you stayed in your room all day and—"

"Entertained myself. Yes."

"Did you have music at least? And a computer?"

"Zachary made a decent living. So, yes, I was given many forms of entertainment. Many tools and gadgets to occupy myself."

"So you didn't do nothing," she said, softly.

He shrugged. "It does not matter now. Why do you ask these things?"

But it did matter now.

And suddenly Christine could see it all quite clearly.

A little boy occupying himself with music and science and computers and every other device in the world—distracting himself from the fact that his parents showed him no affection. A lonely and wandering adolescent distracting himself with a darker set of skills—his only other companions being those who wanted to exploit his talents for their purposes.

All the while, resentment built up. Until creation finally warped into destruction. Until he was unable to distract himself from his rage. She had changed some of this, had given him enough affection to make him want to create again rather than destroy. A simple kiss had destroyed Cameron. A gentle conversation had diverted him from likely suicide.

But still-even now he was gently distracting himself. It was why his potential had never been realized. It was why he confined himself to his room and occupied himself with work that he was too frustrated to complete. All his gifts…his talents…his brilliance—he saw all of it as a distraction from what he really wanted. A hug from his mother. A friend as he wandered the world. And, for nearly three years now, her.

In his mind, he still didn't have her. He was still waiting for her to leave him.

If she hadn't been certain that she loved him, the puzzle would have been a thousand times more complicated. She would have had to make some difficult choices and soon. Before there was more pain than anyone could handle.

Erik made her tea and asked her how her studies were progressing. And did she need any help? And was she feeling better?

The weight of it made her cry. Because, while she'd had strong feelings of sympathy before this moment, she'd never completely understood. Finally, Christine wrapped her mind around the idea of what it would be like to know deep down that no one in the world had ever loved you. And yet still he tried.

Erik was horrified by her tears, of course. "What did I do?" he asked frantically. "What the hell did I say?"

"Nothing." She stood and grabbed her purse, fumbling for a pair of sunglasses to hide her red eyes. "I'm just silly right now. I…I'm going shopping. I'll be back in a few hours. I promise."

He continued to watch her with alarm. "I will finish this before you come back. I will perfect it for you."

She was going to tell him that it didn't matter; he didn't need to do that for her. But there were only a few words that would begin to make this right. She kissed him, put on her wig, and left-easily finding the right bus that would take her to her destination.

A moment alone was all she needed. Just a moment alone to face the last of her fears.