A bit of time has passed since I became an unexpected guest in his home. I am quite tired often. I worry about all this time I have spent away from the Institute, but I trust him. I'm pretty sure I do. There were days where no words passed between us, and there were days where he played vinyls for me. He had an astonishing record collection that he introduced me to as soon as the quiet had started to become overwhelming.

My days passed in blurs with music, the occasional feverish night, and so many pots of the best tea I have ever had. I almost believed he felt bad for me being home alone so often. Some nights were embarrassing because they were harder than others. Waking up in a cold sweat with a fire burning in my skull and him standing over me. He would say, "Soon," telling me to hang in a bit longer. If I were to die like this, I do not think it would be the worst way together. He pulls an awful face as if he has taken a bite of something gone rancid and sour. He almost seems offended at times, but he never explains why. Is my company so terrible, I wonder? He must surely be tired of me by now.

I am working my way through the most plain spaghetti ever made when Elias gets home from the Institute. I have been so bored! Today I napped and sat around. I sketched a little bit. Sometimes it helps with the growing ache inside. Doing nothing is a little bit depressing. I don't even have my phone. I think it may still be at my place. That or it's in the trunk of that car.

The taste of the noodles isn't terrible, just a basic single mom quality, a stark reminder of the culinary gaps left by my mother. She never imparted cooking skills, and now, even my attempt at such a fundamental dish seems to fall short. Perhaps Elias's kitchen isn't exactly a culinary haven. I ponder over the mysteries of my less-than-stellar cooking skills, wondering if it's the ambiance or my own culinary shortcomings. He probably doesn't cook much. I still like to eat tangible things although I am feeling a bit empty. Having missed a bit of work is starting to bother me sooner than I thought. My head aches just a little. I'm okay though. I wonder what Martin thinks of my absence. Jon probably thinks some unsavory and shady things.

Sounds of scuffling and the slipping whisper of a jacket being removed as he slides it off and hangs it up. I am so aware of any noise that he makes right now. A light jingle of keys being tossed to the side. A heavier than the usual exhalation of air. From the corners of my vision I watch as Elias plops a cardboard box on the kitchen counter.

"What is that?" I ask him, but I can feel it buzzing at the back of my head.

"Work." Finally!

"But," I twirl another forkful of spaghetti, "it's just, you said–"

"I said you couldn't go in person," he approaches me with light steps that are muffled by the sounds of my chewing, "You need your strength." He crosses his arms, looking me over, examining me. His scrutiny makes me feel like I'm being scolded by a dentist for not flossing enough. You wouldn't let me go to work!

It might be that I am more Eye than I thought. That happened so quick. The pasta occupies space but lacks flavor, failing to satisfy my hunger. "Will you make me tea?"

"I almost made tea in my office today." The words linger beneath my skin, traveling through my veins. It was like he said I was a part of his ritual life. The warmth of his words say something else. I was thinking about you. I missed you. That's what I would like to think at the very least.

A particularly obnoxious noodle slurp escapes me. I feel a splash of moisture against my cheek. I am dabbing at my face with a napkin, when I feel a tug at my sleeve.

A sigh. "May I?" He lifts at the corners of my sleeve, and I offer him a nod, napkin discarded. He rolls my sleeves back a few times and then motions for me to give him my other arm so he can do the same."You are absurd," he remarks, and 'absurd' isn't the compliment one hopes for.

"Oh no, the clothes that aren't mine don't fit me," I retort, masking the slight sting.

"Not particularly, but it does suit you," he comments.

"Elias!" The tips of his fingers ghost over the skin of my wrist for a moment. I am reminded of when he untied me, and how gentle he was then. When did that start to happen with us?

He pulls his hands away, yet his whole body is angled towards me. "What would you like me to do, Helen?"

His eyes on me are my favorite feeling I think. It's not just that he watches but the way he looks at me. I wish I had met him sooner. I was so small and alone for so long. "Bring me my tea already."

His lips twitch into the vanishing image of something that could be a smile. He slides my empty bowl away from me, taking it to the sink. Following him to the kitchen, I experience a strange awareness of his every movement. It's in these mundane moments that the unspoken dances around us. His actions are a melody, and I wonder if he hears the same tune.

I can feel the blood rushing to my head, or is that the running water? I peel open the box he has brought me. In it is some of my stationery, a Leitner, and a few smaller wrapped items. I should start with the Leitner. A skim would be nice and helpful. I reach for the aged tome with trembling fingers. I could use my stationery, but I should start just going through the book. I am so worn, and the closeness of the Leitner makes me realize how hungry I have been.

A shock makes its way up my back as I feel his hand press into me for stability. "Easy, easy. Go take a seat." His hand against my lower back, he guides me over to the couch. I am watching him, Leitner clutched to my chest, and my heart sputters as he unfolds a blanket for me. He has been so gentle with me as of late. He sets my cup of tea atop a coaster on the table beside the couch. "Sorry I took so long," he speaks in a low tone just above a whisper.

"Once you're feeling a bit better, I need to have a serious conversation with you. Don't rush though. It can wait. I need you strong." There is a fire blooming in my chest, my stomach twirls, and I take in a quick breath. He watches me with those eyes, and then he is wandering away. He wanders into some other area of his home, leaving me in the living area.

I pry open the Leitner. It isn't anything that could overwhelm me at whatever point I'm at. My fingers tingle. What serious conversation are we going to have? I worry that I am not strong, and that I cannot be the strong he needs me to be. I will certainly try, but how can I know that I am as I should be? I set the book down on my lap as I try to clear my head, and I take a sip of tea. Despite the dreary taste of the pasta I ate earlier, the tea is sweet and dark in my mouth. The cup warms my fingers as if trying to reassure me. Lilting music drifts its way to me from wherever Elias spends his time, and I find it in me to return to the book. Setting my empty cup aside, I start again. The words on the pages are faded, but as I look them over, I know every word. I work my way through page after page, drinking it in.

The world becomes brighter despite the set sun. I find that I am less heavy all of a sudden, a weight pressing against me pulls away. Darkness no longer crawls around the corners of my vision.

Elias's voice breaks the silence, grounding me in the present. "Helen," he calls, and I'm jolted from the Leitner's embrace.

"Yes, dear?" He reaches for the book in my hands, I dog ear the page I am on before he can lift it out of my hands. He sets it on the coffee table. "Is it time for something serious?"

"I have faith in you. Do you know that? There is no doubt in my mind that you are capable of what I am going to ask of you."

My heart skips a beat. Butter me up more, why don't you! "Ominous start." I clasp my hands together in my lap. This blanket is so nice and soft. Did he have this when I got here? I don't think I have seen it before. "What is this about?"

"Do you remember the guest we had crawling around beneath the institute?" Which one? Just kidding, I know the one he means, the one that was hidden from us. I had such a hard time seeing them even though I have gotten so much better at that.

"I know of them vaguely." And I do mean in the vaguest sense.

"It was Leitner." The Jurgen Leitner! I catch a sparkle in his eyes. No way!

"Was?" As in no longer. I wonder how that went. I did just have a light snack, maybe I could.

"I killed him." I call flashes of the event into my mind. An absolutely brutal way to go. A pipe. I didn't expect that at all.

"Oh my." Good riddance. What an absolute doofus!

"Jon is on the run, but he will be back eventually," he says, his voice low, "I need your assistance."

"Of what sort." The revelation about Leitner's demise and Jon's subsequent predicament takes me off guard. A cascade of questions floods my mind, yet Elias remains cryptic. A mixture of emotions swirls within me.

"Leitner has been pushing him in the wrong direction, and I would like you to see to Jon's further education on certain topics. Just guide him starting now and when I am gone." Elias' request is steeped in mystery, and my mind races with questions. The revelation of his imminent departure adds complexity to the situation.

"Gone? What do you mean gone?" Our conversation takes a poignant turn when Elias assures me of his return, sharing a moment of vulnerability that deepens our connection. The transition from seriousness to the mundane — returning to work, the mention of Peter, and Elias leaving for a moment — leaves me grappling with a sense of urgency.

"Don't panic. Breathe. Listen to me, Helen," he drapes his fingers over my clasped hands. His hands swallow mine. "I will be back. I will be back for you I swear." He tilts my head so that I meet his gaze with a finger, "Look at me," he pauses, holding me in that moment. "I will be back, and when the time comes, Peter will be stepping into my position temporarily."

"Then what do you need me for?"

"Peter is serving a purpose, yes, but he has his own agenda. I need you to help keep things running smoothly. Okay, I know that you know what you need to do, and you will know what you need."

"Elias, can't you tell me more?" What do I ever expect? He is as cryptic as usual.

He heaves with a particularly deep exhale, "I can't say too much."

I grasp at the edge of his sleeves, needing something to hold on, as if he will slip away any second. "I thought you said you–"

"I did. I do," he pats at my hands gripping onto his sleeves. "You will be able to return soon, but I will be gone for some time."

"I don't want that," my knuckles are white, and the deep green of his shirt makes them look all the more colorless.

"I know," he tries to slide his fingers under mine. "but I handled your mom."

Handled? Was that also a pipe? "Kill her too?"

"Would you want me to?" Oh, so he didn't. What would I do if she were dead? I don't think it would bother me, but I don't mind her being alive. I want her to see the person I become, because I am so not who she wanted. I just want to be myself.

"No, thank you though," I loosen my grip on his sleeve, blooming like flowers, the blood returns to my hands, "And ditto."

"Ditto," he repeats the phrase with a light lift at the end, an almost question, curiosity tinges his voice.

"Yeah," he pulls again at my fingers, and this time I let him pry me away, " I would kill someone for you too."

I expect him to push me away, instead he presses my fingers to his lips. He taps my thumb against the center of them. "How endearing," this time they split into something more than a fleeting smile. " I'll see you back at work next week, okay?"

"When will you be gone?" I pull my hand away from the warmth of his lips, pressing into his own hand as I do. I interlock our fingers and give his hand a squeeze.

"Not quite yet." He pauses. "Well?" He squeezes back with his thumb. My heart is in my throat, and my stomach is full of scattered dandelions.

"Yeah, whatever. I'll do it." It's cool, be cool. It's nothing. I think that I could do this dance with him forever. Whatever that means. "Does this mean I can return home?"

"Get a bit more done. I'll bring you back tomorrow." So soon. I almost wish I had more time alone with him. The days had gone by so fast. When you are doing nothing in particular they seem slow until they have all sped by. It was like I was dating him if I am being honest. He would come home and ask me how I was doing. I would ramble about whatever story I had built up in my head on that day. The day would be over, and I would find myself tucked into bed, sometimes I did not remember how I even got there. There was so much unsaid. I cannot help but marvel at the authenticity of his performance. He is doing a fine job at making me fond of him.

The days flew by faster as I had grown weak.

Did he not know? I hadn't been certain at first. Maybe he wanted me weak. He said he needs me strong. I do not know. Why is he such a marvel?

I should be excited to go home, to wear my clothes, yet I wish I had more time. I don't want him to leave. I like the way his eyes light upon me, a question lying just under the surface; a thousand words pass between us without a sound. I like that. I know that he needs things from me, but I hope that maybe, just maybe there's some intrigue about me that plagues his mind.

I think about the way his hands cupped mine on the nights I woke from a nightmare. He was there when I hoped. He said nothing. I was embarrassed, but he stayed until I could rest. I think about the side glances. He notices things about me I always wanted to be seen, and I–I would do anything he asked of me. But it's just that. He doesn't tell me to do things nor order me around. He always asks. I was okay with giving up certain liberties when I made the switch, but the choices he offered were always mine. They were not illusory. I know they weren't. I have refused him at times to see what he would do, and he never pushed the issue. I know that I am only a piece on his playing board, but I like to envision a closeness between us. I only hope he continues in this way.