[i]An open stasis tube with wet footprints...[/i]

[center]A wardrobe with a mattress stored vertically in there, cushion on the floor.  The wardrobe door left open.  
An immaculately made bed held a thin coating of dust, that looked untouched for a long time.[/center]

[right]An egg cracked, and its innards were dropped into a well greased pan.[/right]

Precision.  There was still joy in precision.  A perfectly cooked egg, the bacon and blood pudding that Eilidh quite liked.  There weren't many of them left together anymore.  She liked her self-sufficiency, and was proud of her ability to make her own tea as she liked it, but he did like to be able to make her breakfast at least.

She had been thoughtful enough to refill the kettle, with her same precise amount for his cup of coffee to go with the perfectly assembled meal he was making the pair.

He placed her plate in front of her, making just enough noise with the plate on the benchtop to let his presence be known.  She returned a smile.

He knew she was lonely.  Truth be told, he was too.  It had nothing to do with the quality of company that she provided, and he assumed and hoped the same was the case with her.  But he missed the bustle and diversity of friends, so busy and loud.  So full of life.  Neither of them were the loudest of people, and the fact that they remained held the Penthouse in stark contrast to how it had once been.

He'd often found himself thinking of them and wondering what many of them were up to.  He still had the smart phone that Julian had given him, but he'd begun to notice that the conversations he'd had with them tended to be very one sided and there was a lot of him speaking to the void.  Not in all cases.  But enough.  And it began to make him realise that walking a person through so much of the common sense of life probably grew frustrating.

He didn't bring them up with Eilidh, because he suspected that in that way led pain, even if they both would have revelled in the nostalgia at least for a little while.  Instead he enjoyed the quiet company, and the other events and musings of the day.  It would be the social time that would carry him through the day.  While he worked.

His workouts became all consuming.  Kevin had been one of the first to go, but even without someone to spot him, his drive to prepare himself and better himself physically became stronger.  Ever since the first conflict, the flykick that saw ligament damage done to his ankle, it became apparent that there would always be those stronger.  There was always more work that could be done.  That combined with his smart-phone there was no excuse for not doing everything he could to prepare himself physically, mentally, culturally and socially to be able to handle the task at hand.  He suspected something about him would always be offputting to some.  He hadn't had a "usual" upbringing.  But he thought he was making some headway on being... well, maybe not 'normal', but less strange.  Less of a foreign entity.  He was bridging the gap.  But it was an infinite gap, and there was always more he could do.

He jumped on a treadmill to start his warm-up run.  Just a two and a half mile run.  A ten minute 'jog'.  His actual aerobic workout would come later in the day.

He cast his smartphone's screen to a large screen on the wall, and began his day's 'mental calisthenics'.  He had begun to organise his learning.  Today he was reading up on a few topics of interest; the birth of jazz music, the cultural shift that intertwined with the invention of the television and for recent social growth, the ouevre of Jon Favreau films.

Then he heard talking.  A male voice.  An unrecognised male voice.  From the kitchen.

Eilidh was there.  

Alone.  

He fired off a one word query in hopes of giving himself some idea of what they were dealing with, which went unanswered.  Either she was too busy, or not yet sure of how to respond to it:

[i]'Trouble?'[/i]

He jumped off the treadmill and his pace increased, this was no longer a 4-minute mile paced jog, Red sprinted through the halls of the penthouse and burst into the kitchen.  His facial expression covered by a practised 'intimidating' sneer. 

[color=red][b]"Who are you?!"[/b][/color]

He projected a quick mental question.  [i]'Did he hurt you?'[/i]

His ease not being set until he received an answer.

[color=red][b]"And what do you want here?"[/b][/color]