A/N: Thanks to all of you who have taken the time to review. I suppose I'm just like everyone else who posts here - I live for the reviews! Those of you who have not, please take a quick minute to drop me a word or two. And, to archangelo137, one of your *many* questions will be answered in this chapter. The answers to your other questions will be revealed... eventually!

Enjoy!

ls

A Thousand Words

Chapter 3

Pink Bunnies

More snow fell during the night. It did its worst to the city, effectively bringing mighty New York to its knees. The only vehicles out on the streets were the city buses, which were running on an emergency schedule, the ubiquitous New York yellow cabs and the enormous, lumbering snow plows that did their job most effectively - by pushing the snow off the streets and onto the sidewalks, making life hell for pedestrians.

If I hadn't been in dire need of groceries, I wouldn't have ventured out at all since the weather forecast predicted the temperature wouldn't rise above 25 degrees. But, poor planner that I am, I failed to stock up on necessities before the snow and so had to pay the price by braving the frigid temperatures and piles of dirty road slush. Luckily the Food Emporium is only three blocks away from my apartment building.

I really shouldn't have gone outside at all - my little cold turned out to be a full-blown case of the flu. I had a fever, chills, body aches, the whole nine yards. But, since I live alone, I have to take care of things myself. Helpful little elves aren't going to go out and do my shopping for me.

Even more than being sick, I was upset that I wouldn't be going to Erik's studio in the afternoon. I called him earlier in the day after I woke up the second time with a high fever and a headache the likes of which I hadn't experienced in years. My heart sank when I told him it would be at least a few days before I could go back. He understood, but I could tell he was disappointed. As was I.

As I trudged back home, I desperately wished I was on my way to Erik's studio instead, lying on the shabby sofa, with Erik watching me, studying me, painting me...

A familiar voice brought me back to the here and now.

"Christine! Hey, Christie!"

I turned toward the voice and saw Randy making his way to me.

Randy Chastain is an old friend of mine. We met when I first moved to New York and we dated briefly, but somehow the relationship never grew in a romantic sense. We became friends instead.

As he caught up to me, his smile faded.

"Man, you look terrible," he declared.

"Thank you very much," I retorted, giving him a nasty look.

"What I mean is, you look..." He searched his brain for a kind way to say I looked like death warmed over, trying to cover his faux pas.

"I know, I know, I look like shit," I said. "I've got the flu."

As if to prove my illness, I started coughing – one of those horrendous coughing fits where you feel as if you're coughing up one of your lungs.

"Holy crap, you sound like shit, too. What the hell are you doing out in this weather?"

He took my bags and we continued walking.

"I needed food."

"You could have called me."

"I thought you'd be at work."

"Are you kidding? No one's at work today. The whole city's shut down. Come on, let's get you back home and warmed up."

I felt much better after I got home and was settled on the sofa, covered up to my neck with a warm afghan. Randy insisted that I change out of the clothes I had been wearing since my pant legs were wet with dirty slush. I figured I would go for comfort and changed into my favorite flannel p.j.'s and fuzzy slippers.

Randy burst into laughter when I emerged from my bedroom in my new ensemble.

"What's so funny?" I asked, not a little defensively.

"Pink bunnies?"

He couldn't contain his laughter as he pointed to the print on my pajamas.

"Don't laugh; they're comfortable. And warm."

"Whatever."

Randy had made himself useful in the kitchen in my absence by whipping up some hot chocolate. It hit the spot, warming me up after being out in the cold for so long.

"Have you taken anything for your flu?" he asked.

"Everything you can think of. I think I just have to let it run its course."

"And, there's k...i...t...c...h...e...n! Double letter for the c, and triple word score, that comes to...57 points! Ha!"

Randy jotted down his score, gloating like he had just won a million dollars. He had suggested we play a game to cheer me up, but I suspected he was enjoying it far more than I was.

Randy was a complete dear the entire day. He put away my groceries, made us a snack and insisted that I stay on the sofa and not lift a finger. I watched him in all his domestic glory and wondered why some woman hadn't snatched him up yet.

"It's only Scrabble, Randy. Geez, I don't see how you can get so worked up about it."

I reached for a tissue and noisily blew my nose. Randy scrunched up his face at me.

"That's because you're losing. By..." he glanced at the scorepad, "...oh, by 97 points! Come on, Miss Bunny Pajamas, you can do better than that."

"Shut up."

He chuckled. "Is that the best comeback you can think of?"

"Sorry, I'm not playing my 'A' game today."

I went into another coughing fit.

"Do you mind if we finish this some other time?" I asked. "I'm really tired."

"Oh, sure. Yeah, you need your rest. Can we put it up someplace so the tiles won't be disturbed?"

He got up off the floor and carefully picked up the game board so the tiles wouldn't slide around.

"Why don't you put it up on top of the bookca..."

At that moment the room went dark.

In fact, the entire city went dark.

"What just happened?"

Randy's voice came from the far side of the room, where he was heading to put away the Scrabble board, when I heard a thud followed by a lot of tiny plinks.

"Ow! Ow! Shitshitshit!"

"Randy? Are you all right? Where are you?"

I reached over to the end table and fumbled around in the drawer until I found the small flashlight I kept there. I prayed that the batteries were still good since I hadn't used it in such a long time, and when I clicked the switch and the light came on I whispered a quiet "thank you" to no one in particular. I angled the beam of light to see Randy sitting on the floor, holding one stockinged foot gingerly in his hand. The Scrabble board lay on the floor, its tiles scattered all over the hardwood.

"Oh God, Randy, we have to get those tiles off the floor before Spot thinks they're his midnight treat," I said.

I sprang off the sofa and was immediately on my hands and knees, picking up the tiny wood squares.

"He'd really eat them?" he asked, looking at the wood tiles in his hand.

"He ate some paper clips off my desk once, and we wound up in the kitty emergency room," I replied, not stopping in my quest to retrieve all the tiles.

Still massaging his foot, he joined me on the floor and helped me to finish collecting the game pieces, aided by the now-faltering beam of the flashlight.

"How's your foot?"

"It hurts," he said.

"Big baby."

"You try stubbing your toe on the ottoman and see how it feels."

"I do it all the time," I retorted.

"Shut up."

Im fact, I really did stub my toe on that monstrosity of an ottoman quite regularly. I don't know if it's just my clumsiness, or if the ottoman is possessed by the devil and moves itself into my path, but its wooden feet really do hurt when you bang your foot into them. The only reason I haven't chucked it out the window is that it's really comfortable to prop your feet on when curling up in the big chair. I suppose life is full of tradeoffs.

I peeked under the sofa and chair - and the demonic ottoman - satisfied that we got all the pieces.

"Doesn't look like we'll be finishing that game after all," I said philosophically as I lit a few candles around the room.

"Nope."

"Also doesn't look like you'll be going home tonight." I settled back on the sofa and wiped my nose for the thousandth time.

"Why not?" he asked.

"Well," I said matter-of-factly, "we're in the middle of a blackout. It wouldn't be safe for you to be out on the streets, and I would feel safer if you were here with me. So you're staying."

"If Your Highness wishes..."

"She does."

I was so glad I at least remembered to stock up on firewood. After a dinner of cold sandwiches and lukewarm hot chocolate, I pulled blankets and comforters off my bed (and a few extras out of the linen closet) and we both curled up in front of the tiny fireplace. True to form, Spot disappeared under the blankets and was only discernible as a purring lump down by my feet.

Lying on the floor next to Randy, I got the most sleep I had had in days. But, before I finally drifted off into La-La Land, my thoughts weren't about the man beside me, the one who spent most of the day looking after me, taking care of me, making silly faces to get me to smile. My mind was on a mysterious, enigmatic masked man - and when I would be able to see him again.