Chapter Sixteen

"Come with me."

Christine followed Dr Underwood to the door, quilt still tight over her shoulders and at first did not want to go further as she knew it would be cold without her coat. He seemed without patience at her stopping and the next thing she knew, her shoulders were covered in a coat of his own that he had retrieved from a small closet near the door.

Without taking any extra layers for himself, he took her out of the house. The world before her glowed white and shined from the ice that was made a clear sheet over the snow. As he began to lead her down the steps, she slid from loss of sober balance. He steadied her from her elbow and led her down to the street. The fallen tree branch hung splintered and all over the yard in front of them, but Underwood quickly let them out into the intersection in front of his house. There was a slight wind in the air, but for the most part, the weather was still and quiet. He turned to her and she noticed how well his white mask fit with the world around them. Letting go of the light hold he had over her arm, he motioned to the sky.

Once looking up, she gasped, "Stars."

It was a strange thing to see more than the moon and the occasional aeroplane in a metropolitan area as well lit and as wide as Washington D.C. but for once, the sky was alive before her, the edge of the Milky Way is partially visible. Her eyes were wide as she hadn't seen a sight such as that in years. Underwood's eyes scanned the area until he spoke out, "There."

She followed his pointed finger towards a cluster of stairs to the south, immediately noticing three stars.

"That's Orion's Belt," she commented.

"Orion The Hunter, officially." He nodded, "Do you know the mythological story behind the constellation."

She shook her head, she marvelling at the stars.

"Orion, being larger than most other beings at the time, took to secluding himself to his own island where he could sleep by day and hunt in peace by night without being stared upon by other jealous eyes of Greece. Artemis a goddess and a daughter of Zeus was in charge of moving the moon each night. She soon found herself in love with the hunter, eventually sneaking down to see him. They hid their love from Zeus as it was forbidden for a mortal and a god to be in love.

"As time went on, Zeus found out and sent a huge scorpion to kill Orion during the daytime so that he would be dead by evening and it would appear as an accident. Even as Orion fought valiantly, the scorpion managed to poison him, leaving a very sick man for Artemis to find that evening. Before the scorpion could deliver its final blow, Artemis took it by its tail and swung it so hard it landed right over there."

Christine followed his hand to another cluster of stars.

"In his last moments, she professed her undying love and swore to him that she would look upon him every day, no matter how long his life had been gone and as tribute to their love, she placed him right there in mighty form, giving him the gift of some of the brightest stars in the sky."

Her eyes stayed on the constellation for a few moments as her head began to feel heavier on her head. She swayed a little and he caught her arm again to steady her, this time, she noted, he did not let go, staying close enough to her that if she moved to suddenly again, he could very easily embrace her from behind. For a second she even wondered what that would be like.

"You're an Orion, Ms Gallagher, and even death cannot hide your spirit."

"I'll need an Artemis, then," she mumbled.

"Don't look so hard."

Christine wanted to look at Underwood, wanted to see what face he was making, whether he was mocking her or not, but he stood behind her still, her back nearly touching his chest, but not quite. A strange warm energy buzzed between them and she wondered if it was all due to the wine or not. She couldn't help but be content.

XVI

Before Christine's eyes opened, she could feel the weight of her head bearing down on her neck. Surprisingly, it wasn't due to swelling in her head as she expected from having had such a large glass of wine the night before. The smell of fire was still in the air, but now it was mixed with other smells. Fried eggs? The faint sound of small pops on a hot surface could be heard as well.

When she opened her eyes, she found herself leaned up against the side of the fireplace, still sitting up, covered with both the quilt and a long winter coat. His long winter coat. The same coat he had put over her to go outside the night before. She thought she would never be able to face cold weather again, but the night before didn't seem so cold when she was with him. It was quiet and peaceful and… She shook her head. These thoughts were crazy. They were actually crazy.

Christine stretched out her legs. Her feet, she found, were strangely warm and when she moved, the warmth moved away. Looking over, she saw a large, pump, cat yawn and stretch its front legs out in front of it. The cat had interesting features where its neck was a creamy white, and a thick black line down its back that split apart into rows of black spots over otherwise grey fur. When the cat turned its sleepy gaze to Christine, she noticed an ill-formed M on its head. Most noticeably were its radiantly blue eyes that stared up at her in annoyance. Before she could reach out to it, it yawned and walked out of the room. Christine almost laughed at her surprise. Erik Underwood owned a cat!

Deciding to hang his coat up on a coat hook at the door, she still held fast to the quilt as she followed her senses to the kitchen. Before her, Underwood was scraping two sunny-side-up eggs out on a plate on the small table. He appeared to be wearing similar brown trousers and a navy high knit sweater from the night before. She noticed that only one plate was set and had two slices of toast already on it with a bowl of yogurt next to it. Hot water with a lemon wedge poking out from the water was within reach as well. Oddly enough, there was only one placement of dining ware. She halfway wondered if it were only for him.

Setting the pan down in the sink, Underwood finally addressed her, "I hope you're not allergic to cats. Roach got in again." He motioned to the plate, "This is yours. Eat."

Christine moved to the table and sat, "Roach?"

"He was sleeping next to you last I checked." Underwood moved to sit across from her.

"Did you name the cat, Roach?"

Before taking a sip of his own hot water with lemon, he nodded.

"Why?"

"He's a menace and impossible to get rid of." He took another sip, "And far better at unlocking a door than I've ever been."

Christine smiled a little and said, "Thank you for breakfast."

He shrugged, "It's what I had. I eat the same breakfast every day. I don't have much else around here."

"Still, really, thank you."

He nodded again. As she started to eat she realized there was no salt or pepper around, nor was there any butter for the toast or sugar in the yogurt. Everything was so bland. But it was food and she was hungry so she didn't say anything to contradict what she wanted. Across from her, Underwood was reading from a tablet. She was a little thankful to be able to eat in peace. Looking to the corner she found Roach staring at her with big curious blue orbs.

"He's waiting for you to look away so he can take your food," Underwood muttered.

"Do you have food for him?"

He looked from the tablet to her for a moment and she caught his eyes. When she looked back down at her plate, half an egg was missing. Her gaze turned back to the cat who had somehow managed to move across the room and back without any noise at all.

"He eats just fine," Underwood said casually as he returned to the tablet.

Christine wanted to comment that maybe Roach wouldn't steal human food if he had his own but chose better of it.

"I'm currently reading The Washington Post. Do you have access to it?" It sounded to her that he wasn't willing to give up his tablet, but wanted her to be up to date all the same.

"I do on my phone, but to be honest, I wanted to save my battery in case the power doesn't come on for a while."

"The kitchen and Study are connected to the generator if you have a charger." He said casually.

Christine's mouth fell open, "Wait. You had a generator and haven't been using it?"

"It wasn't necessary before I needed the paper this morning." She saw him raise an eyebrow, "Besides, electricity or not, you were not keen on moving far from the fire last night. I offered to move the couch closer, but you had already fallen asleep."

She decided to not admit that she didn't remember that part of the evening. Her last thoughts were with the sky and how beautiful it looked and how close she could feel with someone without hardly any touch-

Christine shook her head. What was I feeling last night? What was wrong with me? To avoid him reading her mind, she stood up from the table to retrieve her phone. Having turned it off the night before to save it, she took more time to gather her thoughts. Had she really just spent a night with Erik Underwood? Sure, it wasn't a night night, but still. And for her to wake up under his quilt and his coat… Strangely enough, she recalled feeling so warm and comfortable the night before. They had talked for so long and the conversation was mostly pleasant until she had a drunken meltdown on her own accord.

How embarrassing. And there he was making breakfast for her. Why was he being so nice? She closed her eyes for a second, trying to think if there was any real reason for him to be so nice. She was sure that the evening was going to be just as much hell as it had started to be, but it wasn't. Recalling his words, she remembered how encouraging he was, not in a false sense, but in a way that made her feel foolish for having ever thought otherwise.

This left her in a lurch. She didn't know how to behave, how to act around him. Should she be nicer? Aloof? Grateful? Her thoughts changed once she finally pulled up the Washington Post. Besides the front page news on the weather knocking out power for most of Washington, there was a sliver of a side article on Raoul Peters.

She thought she felt her heart twist, or maybe her throat twist in response. Reading the first part of the article, then flipping a few pages over, she gathered the information that the family did not think it as an intentional suicide despite counterparty speculation. There was a small picture of Raoul's mother and step-father, two sisters, and step-brother Phillip. All of the women, regardless of their high fashion, looked sickly skinny with gobs of black mascara and eyeliner running down their faces. Phillip looked as stale as always, offering no comfort or feeling in his manners.

Christine scoffed. How typical. His family, the family he all but hated in an attempt to earn enough money for their approval, was soaking up the situation. She all but threw her phone on the floor in protest of the entire stupid situation. Instead, she kept reading until the end to find that they had set the date for the public wake and service on January first in Washington and the funeral would be privately held in Pittsburg on the following day. Another pit of anger rose in her as she wondered that if he were not such a public figure if she would ever get a chance to see when the funeral was at all.

Of course, she wouldn't have been invited to the actual funeral. She was nothing to the Peters' family. They didn't even know about her and Raoul made no effort to have them know about her. She found herself angry at all parties now. Once again, no one cared about her… Except for Meg, and maybe Underwood in a strange way. There were people looking out, that was nice. It even helped that when she went to check her email to send the article out to the staff that all put a few of them had already reached out to her seeking to comfort one another. One even asked for a recommendation. A chill filled her stomach. While she could write recommendations for others, she had no one to recommend her herself. That was a hard truth.

She decided to answer a few more emails by the fire. It was nice to have some time to herself even if it was to do such a terrible informative business. Roach joined her there to sleep near her feet again. That was a comfort if nothing else. He invited her pets, purring low as if him purring was a secret for her only. This cat was a survivor, that was for sure.

Underwood's footsteps were heard soon after. She watched as he set his tablet down into a drawer on the desk.

"Nothing new in the news today." He said suddenly, "A pity. I hate it when Congress is out of session. Some of them are looking to see what little work they can do and leave. I live for the torments of those idiots."

Maybe that's why they want to leave, she mused.

"Some people might consider what happened to Raoul as news," she remarked.

"Someone died. Nothing new," he repeated.

Christine swallowed the lump in her throat, "Still, I've had enough emails to let the staff know of the wake."

"It's your choice to answer them now. Whether he was alive or not, that's not your job anymore, is it?"

She didn't like the malice in his tone, but instead of pushing it, she turned back to her phone. He didn't like that.

"We will start your next lesson now." He nearly spat, "You'll have a break for lunch. There will be another lesson in the afternoon."

An early lesson didn't seem like such a bad thing. That meant she could go home earlier before the sun went down and freeze everything over again. She stood up, much to Roach's protest.

"Have you been working on your breathing as we discussed?" His tone seemed so much colder than the night before.

"Well…" It was only three days ago and so much had happened. Was he really expecting her to-

"Ms Gallagher it is now your responsibility to do such exercises on your own time. I will not hold your hand."

The words were hurtful after the previous evening, but she nodded nonetheless.

"Remember this is your income, Ms Gallagher. I keep you from unemployment. We'll start as we did before. Straighten up and inhale for three beats on my mark of three. One, two, three."

XVI

When the sun started to rise that morning, he knew he had been staring at her sleeping for far too long. He recounted standing outside with her, how close she was to him and how willing he was to keep her there, their bodies so close to an embrace that it hurt him as much as it soothed him. It was a strange and absurd feeling to be impressed by the concept that instead of staring out into the world on one's own, another could stand with him. How funny she looked, covered in so many layers, her blonde hair contrasting only slightly with the white snow around them.

After having been out there for much longer than he knew, her head waved and bobbed a bit from staring up so long. As her balance followed, he took hold of her forearms, wanting to stable her on her own, but instead, she leaned just an inch back, her head falling gently to the crook of his shoulder. His impulse was to step back, to free himself from encouraging an entanglement, but when he looked down, he saw a faint smile crossing her lips. She looked so happy and relaxed as he stood there so tight and confused.

Feeling her falling again, he took hold of her arms, going even further as to encompass her back to hold her against him. Once again, he wanted to run. This couldn't be right. This was not the agreement. This was supposed to be purely over music, not talking, not drinking wine, not gazing at stars, and definitely not this. Strange as it was, he found trouble in pulling away. If anyone else had done this, he would have let him fall in the snow and locked them out. Why did she make him react so differently?

He held her there, much longer than he should have, he knew that. Still, there was something so oddly nice about holding someone like that. It was so very different from anything in his life, and he liked it too much. His brain yelled obscenities at him and he agreed with everyone, but he couldn't bring himself to move.

She needed him. She needed him to help her in so many ways. No one else needed him, not really. As a political figure, possibly, but otherwise, he was replaceable. He was not replaceable to her. He was the last thing left to her that could help really her help herself. And she needed him. This was never any truer as she lay up against his body for support.

His arms slowly wrapped around her further, encasing her and all her outerwear as close to him as possible, going so far as to lean his chin over her uncovered head. There was something so complete there and he felt something that he never thought to be missing and he was filled with a kind of warmth he didn't know was possible. He didn't want the feeling to end.

As she shifted beneath him, he reluctantly pushed her back. He couldn't have her remember this. There was too much at stake and such things must be held to himself only. Once waking her, he assisted her back to the Study and just as he was going to pull the couch over from the window, he found her asleep again. He sat across from her then and when the word finally slipped from his lips, it scared him enough to leave.

"Beautiful."


Honestly one of my FAVORITE chapters in this entire story 3 What did YOU think? Lemme know!