Two to three sips of coffee and five minutes for the caffeine to perform its chemical miracle. That was all JC needed in the morning. Most importantly, that was absolutely essential to open her eyes, remove the grumpiness engraved on her face, and feel like a human being. Like a thinking, talking human being.

Giving two points to herself for checking herself for decency, she left Kepler's bedroom and walked into the kitchen with a Zombie-like walk—her pre-caffeine walk. Scanning the room, she was relieved to find it empty. Nothing worse than a fully-awake, energetic man when she felt like a floor mat. Appalled by her reflection on the fridge—she thought she had combed her disheveled hair with her fingers—her eyes caught a glimpse of a paper on the table. There was a tiny espresso cup holding it in place while arrows were drawn with a thick marker.

The precious word "coffee" was under the reversed "V" of the first arrow. Her eyes greedily followed the arrow's head to a steaming pot of coffee. Without a second thought, she filled a cup and took down almost half of it in one gulp. She knew she was minutes away from clarity. Sitting on a chair, she looked at the paper again. Another tempting word— "espresso"—was scribbled in the same handwriting under a different arrow. A glance at the state-of-the-art espresso machine that seemed ready to launch made her feel stupid, so JC responded the only way she could: she took another sip of coffee. A third arrow was pointing towards the elevator. The word "Kepler" and his private phone number under it made her sit a little straighter in her chair. The letters were written confidently. The lines were straight, a bit arrogant. His name soundlessly voiced between her lips was melodic; it had an inner balance and beauty that made JC quickly refill her cup, blaming the coffee's slow effect for her crazy thoughts. She obediently trailed the two other arrows and went for a slice of cake—a quick sugar boost—then the other options. She ate quickly, facing the workroom's door and placed her plate in the dishwasher beside the cups of tea they had used last night with a satisfied smile on her face.

She refilled her cup and walked towards the bedroom when the thought punched her: her small, tiny kitchen couldn't be more different than Kepler's high-tech, ultramodern one, but they shared one common feature: they both lacked a window. JC stared at the surface of the black steaming liquid, fully awake.

During the endless day filled with fire department reports and police statements, calls to her landlord and the insurance company and the final visit to her apartment to gather some clothes and check its state, JC arrived at a number of valid conclusions: First of all, bureaucracy sucked on both sides of the Atlantic. Secondly, Dylan McBride had been a thoughtful and resourceful companion in all her battles that day, but they didn't share the same sense of humor. That is, assuming McBride had any. To be accurate and fair, he could have had some deeply hidden qualities as a conversationalist but it was difficult to estimate when he was so grim and she was in the state she was in.

With a pang of guilt, JC remembered her brief fight against the temptation to be rude and then her final surrender to the solace of her mp3 during the car rides. She just didn't trust herself to speak. And, what made things even worse, was her adamant conviction that under normal circumstances—whatever those would be—those same hours spent with Kepler would have been filled with talk and captivating little discoveries she'd value as priceless unearthed treasures. How ironic was that?

Because the third and most important conclusion of the day, flashing in neon light in her mind, was that while JC had tried to slowly, gently discover Kepler and earn his trust, he was vulgarly watching her like a sick stalker. No, Kepler was anything but the usual stalker type that would have undoubtedly scared her but also evoked her sympathy for his psychological state, clearly needing professional help. He had been methodically watching her apartment, he was barbarically invading her privacy, monitoring her moves, treating her like what she really was for him: a pawn on his chessboard. And that was the most brutally hurtful conclusion of all.

Kepler, the most interesting, intriguing and, unexpectedly, the most attractive man she had met in her life, was watching her, her apartment, her actions, mistrustful of her motives. There was no way out of this disgusting reality. There was no way for anyone to have seen the smoke from her kitchen and called the fire department. The only person who could have had physical contact with the smoke was JC and she had been clueless about what was happening on the other side of her long and narrow apartment until he called her. While he, Kepler, had given her instructions on what to do and what room to avoid. How stupid was she? How pathetic was she to think they had had a major breakthrough during their midnight tea last night?

And, to make things worse, JC had had all day to contemplate her conclusions and simmer with disappointment and anger because—no wonder—Kepler was a super busy man "working and best not to be disturbed" as Dylan had told her when he showed up just after her brain had started to work. JC had had plenty of time to think, argue with herself in multiple inner conversations, and finally check in at a hotel room under Dylan's resigned gaze. His arguments had fallen on deaf ears.

Did she secretly want him to let Kepler know? She honestly didn't know. What she did know was that Dylan was somehow warmer towards her after the hotel arrangement. It shouldn't have surprised her. Perhaps the man was allergic to stupid women. Or he welcomed her growing some backbone. JC had let him escort her back to Kepler's apartment. Her anger craved the confrontation and she was curious to hear his pathetic excuses.

Kepler did take his time. JC had waited for him alone in his apartment for hours. But time was not her ally nor her friend as she now guiltlessly wandered around Kepler's private space. The workroom, the multiple computer screens covering one wall of the room, meant nothing to her but they sure meant something to him. If she were a violent person, she could smash them all to pieces, sit on the couch he had obviously used to sleep last night—another lie of his—and wait to see the look on his face. The thought did cross her mind, but violence was never her answer. JC was hot-tempered, she got mad instantly but her anger was short-lived and when her mind started working again she sought reasons and excuses. And that infuriated JC even more.

She rekindled the fumes of her rage as she searched his closets and drawers. The guilty pleasure she would have felt if she had attempted it last night now was diminished into a vindictive act of retribution. There was no pleasure for her there other than the thought, "I did it to you, too. I know where you keep your suits and the myriad turtlenecks you have, your underwear. I could have mismatched your precious gloves and, by the way, you could use some color in your life." Even in her mind she sounded petty and childish. Unsatisfied.

As the hours went by, a weird trait of human nature, of her nature was revealed to JC in the most unpleasant way. She was still mad at Kepler, there was no doubt about it. But now she wasn't mad for the right reason. She was fuming just thinking about him but not because of his cameras at her apartment. What disturbed her the most was no longer the fundamental, the very basic fact that he had invaded her privacy, and this realization was disturbing of its own accord. What irritated her the most now was that she felt ashamed of herself. He had watched her doing her neck exercises—the idea of a double chin had terrified her ever since she was a teenager; he had witnessed her eat a sandwich in two bites or stay in her pyjamas all day long and she felt ashamed of herself. He was the culprit, yet she was the one feeling ashamed and then mad at herself for feeling that shame and not being in control.

For JC, known for her rational, practical thinking, that made no sense. She should be mad at him. Period. For what he did. Period. Not for what he made her feel afterwards. It wasn't that she had forgiven him the first level of this obscenity, but if that was not what really bothered her at this point, wasn't it the same as if she had forgiven him? As if she didn't mind?

And the worst thought of all, buried under piles of angry thoughts and miserable conclusions: what tiny part of herself found his watching her a little bit exciting? Wasn't that part equally perverted and disgusting?

Sickened by every thought her mind weaved, JC moved to the small terrace. She needed the fresh air and counted on the chill to numb her disturbing thoughts. JC laughed at herself and her blue mood. She had been tricked by a blackmailer. There was no novelty in that. Ending the whole thing would be the wisest, safest move she had made in the last month. She pushed away any thought of her father, for her resolution would abandon her, and she let the wind empty her mind focusing only on Kepler's faults, on his betrayal.

She didn't hear him when he opened the door. She just felt the warmth of a coat on her shoulders. In his usual manner, he was standing half a step behind her.

"You'll catch a cold." His deep voice embraced her and she closed her eyes to take it all in. If she wasn't angry before, she was mad at him now and her anger had a force of its own. She would miss his voice. She would miss his care. Even the illusion of it. And most of all, she would miss the man she thought he was before he proved to be nothing like it.

"I'm admiring your terrace. It has a misleading sense of privacy," she said scornfully.

"I'm afraid I had nothing to do with it. Taylor chose the furniture and those cylindrical planters. I'm way too lazy—"

JC stared at the feathery ferns and the tall, narrow planters, dumbfounded. Her disregarded sarcasm had fallen flat at her feet much like her attempt to comprehend a man like Kepler. Good, stupid "Christine" was incapable of irony while Taylor was the multitalented artist with the amazing decorating skills. She shoved the coat back at him, almost pushing him, and walked to the other side of the balcony. He set it down on an armchair behind him with a calmness that infuriated her.

"My kitchen doesn't have a window," JC spat the words.

His black eyes were locked on hers.

"Have you eaten?" JC was certain her astonishment was all over her face. She couldn't believe the man's nerve. "An empty stomach is not a good partner to a heated conversation," he explained. Was he mocking her?

"If that's not an underestimation, I don't know what is." JC was proud of the acid irony lacing her voice. "There won't be any 'heated discussion,' Kepler. There will be a fight, unless you'll just listen as I give you a piece of my mind—"

"So this will be our first fight?" Was he flirting with her? Playing with her irritation? He took a couple of slow, lazy steps towards her with his hands in the pockets of his dark grey pants. He looked so calm, so infuriatingly composed.

"And our last!"

"Then I was wrong to count on another long after-midnight tea." There was a tease, a dizzying quality in his voice and JC couldn't help but wonder whether he knew its impact on her and deliberately used it against her as a wicked strategy to confuse her.

"There is no way for anyone to have seen the flames in my kitchen and called the fire department, which leaves only one option: you have been watching me. You have been watching my apartment. You called the fire department."

"Guilty as charged." He raised his hands in a gesture of pretend surrender. "I unreservedly apologize for my indiscretion."

"Don't mock me! What you did was indecent…disgusting."

"I'm unforgivable." JC couldn't believe her ears. There wasn't an ounce of sincerity in his voice.

"Have you lost any sense of decency? You did something so disgusting…so fundamentally wrong and insulting…" JC in her anger struggled with words. "I know you trust no one. I don't know what kind of double-faced person you think I am but that doesn't give you the right to treat me this way…. You invaded my privacy in a way…. You're a pervert!"

"I'm glad to see that your experience in perverts is limited." There was an edge in his sarcasm that JC welcomed. She wanted nothing more than to shake that cool façade of his. To break it to pieces, if possible.

"You are totally unremorseful."

"I did save you," said Kepler with a hint of indignation in his voice. What did he expect? An award?

"You saved your 'investment.'"

"But you did benefit from my actions."

"I shouldn't expect any better from a blackmailer."

"I'm not going to apologize for something I do not regret." He was dead serious now. No playful tones, no teasing mood lacing his voice.

"If it wasn't for the fire, I would've never found out."

"It's not as if I was watching you 24/7—"

"Of course not! You hired others to do the dirty job." The "boring job" was what she thought first but she restrained herself.

"No, this is not something I'd leave to others." He was serious. Was this a kind of favour she ought to appreciate?

"Should I be thankful? Will you also 'save' me from all the shower videos that could end up circulating online?"

"There were no cameras in the shower. Nor in your apartment for that matter. The only camera was your own laptop's webcam and your microphone."

"And I am supposed to believe you now? Will you swear on your stalker's honor? Should I feel sorry for you? Was it a poor harvest, Kepler? No bedroom secrets or sex tapes to guarantee my silence to BDS?" she mocked him as the new facts sank in. He couldn't have been watching her since the last time she had sex in that apartment, and for reasons involving her self-confidence she avoided even trying to remember when that last time was.

"That's sick. Who do you think I am?"

She smugly smiled at his grim tone. He sounded genuinely offended.

"Since when does my opinion matter? You can't possibly respect me and treat me this way. Do you want to know what I think of a man who's using any means to get what he wants? I wonder…what do you think of yourself? Do you applaud yourself every day for your Machiavellian genius? I hope you do, because you'll hear no applause from me. I think you're nothing more than an average sick person. How does that sound to you? You're not someone who's pure evil, but someone whose paranoia would easily hurt people to keep things under his control…who thinks he's entitled by God or some other super power to be manipulative and disregard other people's feelings, their rights, just because he doesn't trust anyone and thinks that everyone will cross him. Do you see yourself in that description, Kepler?"

"For what it's worth, I didn't mean to hurt you," he said after a long pause. He had leaned against the tall, old brick wall.

"That's SUCH a relief! Come on, tell me! What did you record? Soda belches and off-key singing to blackmail me in case I change my mind or decide to talk to someone? I guess what really saved me was that my life is so boring—" Her voice faded. She was drained. That must have been her only excuse for revealing her deepest shame of all: she was a creature of habit. Her routine was the same day in, day out. Maybe that was part of Kepler's allure to her, but now the adventure had turned bad. The game was over. "Do you think you could blackmail me with public humiliation and some online videos? I'm not sixteen years old, Kepler, and I know I've done nothing wrong."

"Sometimes, having done nothing wrong doesn't save you from humiliation." There was no hint of a threat in his voice. Just bitterness. As if he were talking about another time, another place. "And your life is anything but boring. You are the only one I know who came that close to death…this week." He covered the distance separating them and stood beside her, looking at the city's view before them. Everything, the buildings, the pavement, the city lights, looked so painfully clear when she was so confused. "This is not a serious conversation," he said matter-of-factly.

"Why? Do you think that what you did is not serious? Because if you do, you are more damaged than I think you are." She winced at her harsh words but she needed their sting to put some distance between them.

"I don't know how damaged you think I am, Christine." His elbow brushed her arm as he shoved his hands in his pockets again. "This is not a serious conversation because I'm not sorry for what I did, and you are not really mad at me." He was still staring at the city surrounding them and JC stared at him as a shiver ran down her spine. For the first time since Kepler had entered her life, she was terrified of him. Terrified of his ability to read her and see behind her walls, of his willingness to confront her anger when most people in her life just chose to back away and bypass it. Terrified of his raw sincerity. "It is serious, Christine, and if you knew how serious the situation is, you wouldn't be mad at what I did. You'd run away in a heartbeat."

"Is that what you propose I do?"

"I'm not in a position to propose anything. I need you. That's why I approached you."

"And I agreed to help you. Why are you sabotaging that?"

"I'm just trying to protect you, to protect myself. By agreeing to work with me you agreed to share my enemies. You didn't know that part of the deal. I tricked you. If it makes any difference, I hadn't considered it as a valid possibility until now—"

"What if I agree to share your enemies? Will you tell me what I'm dealing with?"

"No. I can't do that. Maybe in due time, but now…. We don't even know whether you were actually targeted. What's the point in dragging you into all this? I'm not so reckless, Christine, trust me."

"You don't trust me, but you ask for my trust. You claim you had a reason for hacking into my laptop—other than something perverted or stalking—yet you say you'll tell me in due time. How patient should I be? Because I'm battling with my self-respect here and I'm losing big time—"

"Tell you what—" He turned to face her. She tried to block anything else but his eyes from her vision. "What if I said I trust you? Would that make any difference to your wounded self-respect?"

"But you trust no one."

"I'll make an exception for you."

"Are you mocking me?"

"Someday, you'll know how serious I am." She saw his eyes smiling but couldn't utter a word. Couldn't question his sincerity even though she didn't believe him. She just stared at the man wearing too many masks for her to see him clearly. He averted his eyes but then turned to her again. "Let's go inside. You'll freeze here."

He ran his gloved hands up and down her cold arms. What was she thinking wearing that thin blouse in October? Had her vanity gotten the best of her? His warmth penetrated her. Where was her resolution to end this? She wasn't a woman satisfied by crumbs and that was what Kepler gave her. Small portions of his story, fragments of affection. She moved to the wide glass door. This time she didn't object to his coat gently falling on her shoulders. Was she that weak, that needy, that a few gestures of care could persuade her to overlook monumental flaws? Was she that curious? So bored with her life that she was willing to risk her dignity…for what?

She watched him as he poured hot water in a cup and stirred it. Her backpack was on a kitchen stool. Wasn't that the moment she ought to take it and make a dignified exit from Kepler's life? After all, it was the safe thing to do.

"It's only instant soup but for now it'll do as you're clearly not capable of taking care of yourself." She took the cup from his hands and took a small sip, testing its temperature. The hot liquid burned her throat and her stomach but warmed her from inside in no time.

"I would have noticed the fire." She brought the conversation back to matters more serious than food and bad clothing choices. "It was a matter of time to smell the smoke."

"It wasn't the first time. Just the way you agreed to our first meeting—"

"Let me get this straight. You're reprimanding me for following Mrs. Gardner to that cottage in Wales? Hey! I was supposed to meet the man who paid my father's medical bills for almost two years!" she exclaimed, revived by another sip of hot soup, wondering whether he had deliberately struck her adventure "vein" back then. She hurriedly pushed the thought away.

"I'm not reprimanding you, I'm just advising you to be more careful, very careful."

"In order to protect your investment?"

"I've made enemies, Christine. Thoughtless of me, foolish, name it what you like but I have. I'm not some delusional man with fantasies of power and a God complex. I know that compared to them I'm a powerless ass. If you get to know me, you'll see I'm not such a bad person," he added self-mockingly, leaning against the countertop, "but now that I've dragged you into all this…I'm not sure you're qualified for this kind of game."

"It's serious yet you call it a 'game'."

"Sometimes, I wholeheartedly wish you hadn't studied psychology." She heard his sigh under his mask.

"Then you wouldn't have met me, and we wouldn't be here," she offered with a wicked smile. He bent his head to the left looking at her with smiling eyes but he said nothing. "Now, why don't you allow me the responsibility to worry about my wellbeing? I'm an adult. I'll be a very thoughtful, careful 'investment'."

"Stop saying that."

Then what am I to you? JC didn't find the courage to utter the question, afraid it would expose more than any possible given answer. Instead she risked a different question.

"Will you tell me why you hacked my laptop?"

"I wasn't watching you. Well, I was, but my main target was BDS. You take your laptop to work and I wanted to have an idea of the place, of the people before I get there. If I get accepted to the program, I'll be vulnerable during the procedure. I used to check on you when you got there and near the time you'd leave for home. Imagine my surprise when I saw smoke in your living room and I couldn't reach you—"

If that last remark was made to attract sympathy or gratitude, Kepler's attempts had failed. All JC could think was that neither she nor her safety were at the center of this. Far from it. She was the means to an end, a self-preserving end but one that her practical self could comprehend and accept. And the icing on the cake was no other than the embarrassing thought that a few minutes ago a part of her had been intrigued by Kepler's attention. The sick part of her that made her "the actual pervert in the room". If Kepler expected an expression of gratitude, he'd wait for a long time.

"But you will remove that thing from my laptop," she warned him gloomily, hiding her red face behind another sip of soup.

"I will, but that doesn't change the fact that you are vulnerable to a ten-year-old. That's how easy it is for someone to use a 'Ratter' and take control over your webcam."

"A 'Ratter'?"

"A Remote Access Tool."

"Okay, can I at least be sure that you won't hack into my computer again? I'll use a Band-Aid on the camera to avoid the ten-year-olds." She tried to hide how appalled she was at being such an easy target and she vowed to run her antivirus software every single day. That was the best she could do. "If you want to find anything out about BDS, ask me, and if it's something legitimate—" she paused as another idea crossed her mind. "OKTO has cameras, doesn't it?"

"Like BDS, all offices at OKTO are monitored," he offered in a cryptic, extra professional tone. "Employees are aware of this policy."

"But guests are not!"

"An inexcusable omission." He didn't bother to sound honest. His eyes were smiling again.

"So you could watch whether I'd open your medical file 'conveniently' lying on your desk. The day I accepted your offer—"

"I did."

JC opened her mouth to say something at hearing his shameless admission but she closed it. What was the point? Then she changed her mind again. If not words, what was there between them?

"There are cameras here, too?" she asked after a while.

"No. This is my apartment."

"Then you'll understand my need for privacy in my apartment."

"Only under one condition." JC left her cup on the table, ready for battle. When did they agree that he could set the rules? "I'll hire a man to drive you around, to keep an eye on you—"

"You mean a bodyguard?" JC interrupted him, trying to keep a straight face. In vain. She fought the laughter coming from deep inside but she couldn't restrain it. Her eyes watered and she had to turn her back to Kepler as her face contorted with uncontrolled laughter. She guessed it was an effect of anxiety but she needed that energy release. JC took some deep breaths and all the time she needed before she turned to face Kepler again. She sobered instantly when she realized he was dead serious.

This whole prospect sounded so surreal that she forced herself to find arguments but she couldn't. It was just madness. Instead, she walked to him and placed a firm hand on his forearm. He was still leaning against the countertop but now he had folded his arms over his chest in a posture full of resolution and decisiveness.

"This is madness." She had no other words. He was looking at her, unyielding. "You know this yourself. This will only attract attention. And we don't know whether it's arson in the first place. How will I explain this at work? What will my friends think?"

"Do you think I care how you'll explain this at work? Say it's a jealous boyfriend…I don't care! Have you even considered what I was thinking until you answered your damned phone?" JC's hand fell to her side as she unconsciously took a step back. He was mad at her. He hadn't raised his voice but the sight of his narrowed eyes was enough. He was the angry one now and all she could register was a warm sense of triumph sweeping through her. "You seemed so lost and confused when you were standing there on the pavement—" She needed a few seconds to dwell in the warmth of his voice but her dignity forced her to compose herself.

"You had confused me. And it was that vertigo—"

"Till we find out what the fire report says and we send an independent expert—" There was more than anger in his eyes now….

"I don't want Kevin Costner. He's too old." She tried to joke her way out of the cloud his voice and proximity weaved around her. Had she taken that extra step closer to him?

"The one I have in mind is not too old."

"You know he can't enter BDS—"

"Don't worry, he won't embarrass you. He'll just drive you around. I just need someone to pick up the phone when I can't reach you." He was visibly calmer now.

"So will that man keep me out of harm's way?" She risked a half-mocking, half-teasing tone. Except for his anger everything was still quite surreal to her.

"He will." It was a solid answer. An absolute one. No doubts, no hesitations. She liked that. "What's this?" His eyes narrowed on her backpack.

"I booked a room at a hotel," said JC, surprised Dylan hadn't told him.

"It seems I'm not the only one playing games here." She didn't know whether he meant her or Dylan.

"So, what if I want out?"

"That is not an option. Let's not start this all over again. There's no harm in being vigilant. At least until we have the fire report in our hands. For now, I'm responsible for your safety."

"What does that mean? That I'm trapped inside OKTO premises?"

"That's slightly overdramatic, don't you agree?" His eyes were smiling again. "We'll find a suitable accommodation for you until your apartment is ready. Do you still have your nightgown in your backpack?"

"Of course not. I left it at the hotel, along with my suitcase."

"Then you'll have to use one of my shirts for the night." She followed him to his bedroom where he took a long look at the bed but said nothing. During her long hours of waiting she had put the sheets she used the previous night in the washing machine. JC had flattered herself thinking that it was the least a guest could do, that even in her anger she had manners. Now, watching him make the bed again she knew it was a desperate move to draw attention, to make a statement, to boost her resolution. She felt so childish. His moves were quick and precise. If he noticed her raid on his drawers, he didn't say a word. At the end, he left a new off-white shirt of his on the pillow. She wondered if he had taken a vow against colors.

"You've already made contact with the man who will…drive me around." It was obvious now. He was always one step ahead. If she wanted to catch up, she had to have that in mind.

"Yes. Perhaps you've already met him. It's Radek Alionin. Olek's brother."

"Isn't Alionin the man who opens virtual holes in the Chinese wall?" That was all she remembered from Kepler's VPN description. One man was opening a hole while others ran to close it. Then he started all over again.

"Yes, he's also the one monitoring the fire department." JC doubted that was legal. "His brother just arrived from Poland."

"And do you trust this Radek Alionin?"

"I know he's capable of the job and I trust some facts regarding Alionin. His desperate need for a job. His love for Olek. His dependency and devotion to him."

"These are feelings. You trust feelings?"

"Feelings are facts for those who have them." Kepler left the bedroom and JC followed him, turning her back to the Modigliani painting and the uncanny urge to look away. "There's some lasagna left from last night," said Kepler, standing in front of the fridge, obviously calculating the options.

JC welcomed the opportunity to leave Modigliani's wife alone for a while longer. "What are you waiting for? Bring it on!"

Hi everyone!

The "Band Aid" advice is a solid one. Just to see that fiction can be useful. ;-)

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How are you coping with long chapters? I couldn't cut this in two in the middle of the dialogue so I let it be. I know it's long for posting online…
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