Christine wandered, barefoot, in circles around her small kitchenette.

She didn't know what to do with herself.

It was quiet in her apartment.

Well. Not quiet. It was never quiet. She could hear her neighbors locked in a screaming match. She could hear the slam of a door down the hallway.

Maybe it wasn't that it was quiet. It was lonely.

The walls were too thin. Once, when the screaming neighbor punched the wall, he almost broke right through into her bedroom.

He apologized, but she still had to listen to him and his wife scream at each other straight through the night sometimes.

There was a strange type of energy in the apartment that she had never really noticed until she escaped it.

Her stomach grumbled and she nibbled at the stale pastry she had nabbed on her way out of work. It wasn't very good, but it was food.

She couldn't ever remember being so hungry. She thought maybe she should blame Erik for that. One week of regular meals, breakfast, lunch and dinner that came so reliably she could have almost set a clock to it, and her stomach was already spoiled by it.

It was worth it, anyway. Even if she was a little extra hungry and a tiny bit more blue than usual.

Now, standing in her kitchen and frowning at the dishes on her stove, she wondered if maybe it wasn't panic attacks at all. Maybe she just hadn't chipped away enough of the paint on the windows and the building was sealed just a little too well.

She took another bite of the crumbling pastry.

She wasn't sure why she felt so lost. Before the trip, it seemed like there weren't nearly enough hours in the day. Now it seemed like it was dragging and the sun simply wasn't complying with the passage of time.

She pulled her phone from her pocket, running her thumb along the cracked screen to unlock it.

Daddy, can you call me?

She barely got it slipped into her pocket before it chimed.

In a meeting his prompt reply read.

She frowned at it for a moment. It shouldn't upset her, she knew that, and she couldn't even pinpoint why exactly it did. He had to work. He had taken an entire week off to spend with her. She had seen where he lived.

There was no question that he worked.

As soon as it's over. Are you okay?

She glanced at the dirty dishes on the stove top. She considered the suitcase that hadn't even made it past the living room.

I'm okay she lied.

It wasn't a lie, really, though, she thought. She was mostly okay. It wasn't like she was in any kind of danger or laid out in some sobbing mess.

She just missed him. A lot. And she thought that maybe she was a little selfish for it. And she thought that maybe, if she could just talk to him, it might help to relieve that strange hollow ache that had formed just under her throat.

She could have done the dishes. She could have unpacked her suitcase. She could have vacuumed.

Everything seemed a little more than overwhelming so instead, she collapsed into her too-lumpy couch and stared at the chipping paint on the windowsill.

It couldn't have been more than an hour, but it felt like a day through the foggy haze she was walking in.

The ring of the phone woke her up. Or maybe it didn't. She wasn't sure if she had actually fallen asleep.

"Hello?" she answered groggily.

"I'm so sorry, sweetheart," he answered. "That meeting wasn't supposed to run on nearly as long as it did."

"It's okay," she said softly.

She could hear someone talking in the background, but she couldn't make out what was actually being said. "It's fine, Bev," he was saying, sounding just a bit further away. "No, just give it to me. I'll take care of it. I need to look it over anyway."

There was a shuffling in the background. She heard the fuomp of stock paper. Nervously, she pulled at the string of her sweatshirt.

"I'm sorry, princess," he said softly. "What did you want to talk about?"

"Nothing," she admitted, tugging at the string. "It's okay if you're really busy, Daddy. We can call later. I don't mean to distract you."

"Mm, but I like your distraction," he hummed warmly. "Beverly is a very good doorkeeper. If she finds out that I am off the phone she's liable to let anyone wander in and bother me. I very much prefer your distraction, princess. I'm afraid that you're stuck with me now."

"Okay," she answered softly, picking at her sweatshirt.

"Tell me what you did today," he said softly.

"I opened at work."

"And how did that go?"

"Okay," she said again, the word just as soft.

There was quiet for a long moment. "Will you tell me what's wrong?" he asked gently.

"Nothing is really wrong," she said quietly, relaxing against the couch. "I just really miss you, Daddy."

"I really miss you too, sweetheart," he said softly. "It's especially bad at night, without you here. Things seem extra quiet."

"Yeah," she whispered. "Really quiet."

"Well, you can turn the TV on. Or maybe some music," he suggested slowly. "Do you know what helps me?"

"What?"

"I think about all of the things that we didn't get to do," he murmured. "And all of the places that I wanted to take you but didn't get to. And then I think about all of the things we can do together next time… looking forward to next time instead of being sad about last time helps a lot."

She wiped at her cheek with her thumb. "I dunno when next time can be," she admitted, the words slightly wavering.

"Well, how about this weekend, then?" he asked. "You're finished with classes on Thursday… I could probably get you on a late flight Thursday, or an early flight on Friday. That would give us two whole days, at least."

Christine sniffed, staring at the peeling paint on her windowsill. "I wouldn't want you to pay all that for two days, Daddy," she said softly. "And I work doubles all weekend. I don't think I can get out of them." Nor could she afford to give them up. She thought that maybe leaving that part out was for the best.

"I don't ever want you to think about the money," he said, his words slow. "If I couldn't afford it, I would never offer it and get your hopes up. Two days is plenty worth it. I would happily fly you out for one if that's all we could manage."

"I still have to work," she mumbled.

"Ah," he said softly, pausing a moment. "Then what if I came to you instead?" he asked slowly. "My weekends are perfectly open."

"I don't want you to come here, Daddy," she said quickly, before she could really give it any real thought.

"Do you not want to see me?" he asked softly. "Or is it because you don't live in a penthouse?"

"It's embarrassing," she mumbled.

"Can I tell you a secret, princess?" he asked softly.

She wrapped her sweatshirt string around her finger nervously. "Yeah."

"I didn't always have money," he whispered conspiratorially. "In fact, I didn't always have a bed. Or even walls, really. I'm pretty sure that we were squatting for at least half of my childhood… nothing about your financial status is embarrassing to me, Christine. I know what it is to be in a tough spot."

"You've been homeless?" she asked.

"For a good few years," he answered easily.

Christine frowned. "I couldn't imagine it."

"It wasn't all that long ago," he said, and she heard the scratch of a pen against paper. "My only point is that I don't care where you live, sweetheart. I would never judge you for what you can and can't afford."

"Daddy?" she whispered.

"Hm?"

She frowned. "Am I allowed to ask what happened?"

She heard the click of a pen against the wood of a desk. "I got very lucky," he said softly. "And I was in the right place at the right time."

"I don't want you to come here," she whispered, frowning at the windowsill. "I don't want you to see it."

There was the scratch of pen against paper for a long moment. "I think that you need something to look forward to anyway," he said gently. "This June we are having a groundbreaking ceremony. The date isn't set in stone yet, but I'd like you to come, princess. It's a lot of stuffy shirts and shaking hands. I will need you to make it bearable."

She toyed with her sleeve. "You really want me to come?"

"Of course I do," he answered easily. "I am itching for the opportunity to show you off, sweetheart."

"I'll embarrass you," she mumbled.

"I do a fine job of that myself," he chuckled. "You won't embarrass anyone. We will find you a very pretty dress to wear, and I will take you to a big fancy dinner party and introduce you to all sorts of people."

"I want to," she said softly.

"Good," he answered gently. "Then you've committed and I will be very disappointed if you back out on me. So June, at the very latest. You'll be right back here with me. Does that help at all?"

"It does a little bit, Daddy," she admitted, feeling the gripping pressure in her chest breaking loose just the slightest bit.

"I'm glad," he murmured, and she heard the scratch of the pen again. "What classes do you have tonight, sweetheart?"

Meg burst through the door, frowning at a packet of paper in her hands.

"What's that?" Christine asked, leaning over the back of the couch.

Meg glanced at her. "So he has a head?"

"He does…" Christine said nervously.

"That's good," Meg said, her voice monotone. "He's also a felon."

"Oh," Christine said, frowning. "Is that…?"

"A background check," Meg said, holding the packet of paper up. "It's through Illinois and I had to go through Hell to get my hands on it so you better say thank you."

"Can I see it?"

Meg leaned over the couch, holding it out to her.

The packet was thick. Addresses, aliases, family members. The criminal history didn't start until the third page and she stared at it, trying to interpret it.

"Drugs, mostly," Meg said, pointing at one of the boxes. "There you can see he pled guilty. Seems like he was quite a dealer."

Christine glanced at the date, and immediately felt relief flood through her. "That was ten years ago, Meg."

Meg reached over her, flipping the page and pointing to a box halfway down the page. "That one was five," she said, her finger dragging down the page. "And that one's a gun charge, there."

"That one's even older."

Meg flipped the page again. "Assault," she said, pointing at one box. "Robbery," she said, pointing at another.

"Unarmed," Christine defended weakly. "These are all really old."

"Some are," Meg sighed. "Some were only five years ago… you don't seem surprised. Did he tell you?"

"No," Christine answered, flipping another page and frowning as she glanced it over. "I don't think he was trying to hide it, though."

"But he didn't tell you."

"It's not like I said 'hi, I'm Christine. Have you ever been to prison? I haven't'," Christine huffed, her cheeks suddenly warm. "I don't think he'd lie about it."

"That's one Hell of an opener, though," Meg laughed. "Maybe you should ask him, Chris."

"What's the point?" Christine asked, flipping the packet closed. "The last one was five years ago and when I told him you threatened to call the cops he really didn't seem worried."

"You need to know if he's going to lie about it," Meg insisted, her chin resting on the back of the couch. "It's really important."

"He won't."

"Then why are you scared to ask him?" Meg asked gently.

Christine ran her thumb nervously against the side of the paper packet. "Why are you trying to ruin this for me?"

"I'm not trying to ruin anything, Chris," Meg sighed. "I'm just trying to keep you safe."

"You wouldn't do this if I met him at work," Christine grumbled. "You wouldn't do it if it wasn't kinky."

"That's not true at all and you know it," Meg argued. "Listen, you're the one who said there must be something. So I looked, and there is. Ask him, Chris. Or you'll always wonder."

"You're distracted, princess."

Christine glanced back at his image on the screen. She was nauseous, her stomach churning. She tried to imagine it, any of it. Him with a gun in his hand, him selling drugs. Maybe even using them. It was so far from anything that she knew about him that it almost seemed like the records themselves were the real lie. "A little bit," she admitted.

"What are you thinking about?"

She frowned. "Meg," she started quietly. "Well, I didn't ask her to, but she did a background check on you."

"Ah," he answered softly.

"Are you upset?" she asked nervously.

His smile was halfway sad. "Not at all," he answered gently. "Your friend cares about you very much. That's a good thing."

"Yeah," Christine answered weakly. "I guess so."

"It's all out there anyway," he murmured. "Do you have questions, princess? I imagine that you do."

She pulled the sleeve of her sweatshirt over her knuckles, looking down at it. "Did you go to prison?"

"Most of it was plead down to probation," he answered simply. "I was an idiot and broke it. I served a few months."

"Was it really bad?"

His laugh was soft. "It's not a place that I would like to visit again," he answered. "It was bearable."

Christine frowned, looking at him through the grainy webcam. "And the gun?"

"I wish this was a conversation that we could have in person," he admitted, toying with the string of his tea bag with his thumb. "It wasn't mine. I was the go-between. It just so happened to be on me when I was stopped. I always preferred fists to weapons."

"Were you gonna tell me about any of it?" Christine asked softly.

"Eventually," he answered, frowning. "It would have come out at some point, anyway. I'm not particularly proud of my past."

"You got a lot for selling drugs," she mumbled.

He leaned forward slightly in the frame. "I did," he agreed.

She toyed with her sleeve nervously. "Were they not your drugs either?"

"No, they were," he answered, seeming to search her face. "And they funded what the grants could not through college."

"Do you still-"

"No," he answered quickly, cutting her off. "I have left all of that quite far behind me. I am nothing more than your average, boring, law-abiding citizen now, I'm afraid."

She bit the inside of her lip nervously. "Did you use them?"

"Does Marijuana count?" he teased cautiously. At her blank stare, he sighed. "No," he answered. "My mother is an addict, Christine. I knew better. I only sold them for the pocket money."

She fidgeted, pulling at the string of her sweatshirt. "I'm sorry," she said softly.

"So am I," he answered simply. "Some things just are."

People are messy, he had said to her. She didn't realize when he said it that he might've been talking about himself, too. "How'd you get out of it?" she asked softly.

"Copious amounts of therapy," he answered with a chuckle. "I learned that I was very angry, though I do believe my only official diagnosis was young and stupid."

"And five years ago -"

"Five years ago the state decided they were going to take one last good bat at humiliating me," he said in a huff. "It was an old case. I had no idea there was a warrant or I would have walked myself in. Instead they decided to come to me. Six officers and dogs - they ripped poor Beverly's desk apart. You would've thought I was hiding bodies in the basement with the way they came in. The charge was dismissed. I'll have to ask my lawyer why it hasn't been expunged."

She tugged on her sweatshirt string, pulling the end of it loose. "That sounds really scary."

"Particularly when you're not expecting it," he said, his voice just a bit softer. "It's all over now, princess. I have a very good lawyer that made sure of it… I am not proud of the things that I've done, but I am proud of how far I've come. I understand if it makes you nervous."

"I'm more nervous about having a gun pointed at me," she admitted, rubbing at her cold nose with her sleeve.

"I promise that isn't going to happen," he said softly. "I'm long done with all of it. I certainly would have told you before if I had the slightest inkling that it might happen."

"Police already make me nervous," she mumbled.

"Why?" he teased gently. "Should I run a background check on you?"

"No," she said, not able to hide her small smile. "It'd be really boring. I just- they make me anxious. Like maybe I did something that I don't even know about."

"Ah, and you're certain that you aren't some criminal mastermind?" he teased. "The terms of my probation ended years ago. I'm perfectly allowed to associate with felons again."

Christine's laugh was a nervous huff of air. "I shoplifted sometimes," she confessed softly. "But I never got caught."

He hummed, taking a slow sip of his tea as he watched her through the screen. "And what did you shoplift, sweetheart?"

"Stupid stuff I couldn't afford," she admitted. "Like makeup and candy."

"Ah, candy," he murmured, a small smile playing on his lips. "It's the gateway drug to car theft, you know."

"I don't even know how to drive," she mumbled.

"I know, sweetheart," he chuckled warmly. "Do you still shoplift?"

"No," she said with a frown. "One day I just - I got scared, and I haven't done it since."

"I'm glad that you don't," he said softly. "I wouldn't want my first trip out there to be to bail you out."

She pulled at her sleeve, shifting on her too-hard kitchen chair. "I think maybe I'm dumb," she confessed quietly. "Because when Meg gave me that, I thought maybe she ran it on the wrong person."

"I wish that I could tell you she did," he said slowly. "Do you think differently of me now? I don't blame you if you do. I know that it's a lot."

She frowned as she thought about it. "I don't think so, Daddy," she admitted quietly. "I think mostly I was just really surprised."

"I don't think that you're dumb at all," he said. "You would not recognize the person that I was then. I would hope that you wouldn't, at least… I'm glad that we met when we did. I wasn't in a good place for a long time."

"Like depression?" she asked, rubbing her thumb against one of the prominent scars on her wrist.

"I do get a bit melancholic on occasion," he confessed, frowning thoughtfully. "I think that we all do. It was really anger that was my biggest problem."

Christine slouched down in her chair, really looking at him. She wasn't sure if she had ever seen a felon sip tea with his pinky out, but then again she wasn't really sure that she knew a lot of felons at all. "You don't seem angry, Daddy," she said softly.

"Oh, I still am, princess," he said with a slight smile. "There's no magic trick to make it all just go away. It's just that I recognize that the things that I am angry about are things that I can't change. There's no use focusing on those, is there?"

"What are you angry about?"

He only shook his head, just the slightest bit as he set his tea aside. "How about you tell me about your classes, sweetheart?"