Foster's apartment.

A note crumpled underneath the door.

Gabriel? You in there?

I opened the door in answer and Foster darted inside. I was standing with my forehead pressed to the door as it closed, trembling and upset. "I..." I choked on the word, shaking my head and going silent again.

"Do you need to sit down for awhile? Get to the bathroom? The sink?" Foster had only been present for two of my episodes, but he was starting to get the hang of my symptoms. If I was starting to have another panic attack, I was going to get sick to my stomach and collapse soon afterward.

"No," I rasped, expending just enough energy to turn around to face him, my back still leaning heavily against the door. "No, the worst of it... the worst has passed."

Foster moved forward and pressed his hands to my cheeks. His skin was soft and warm to the touch. "God, Gabriel, if this is an improvement then it must have been a hellish one."

I closed my eyes in response, leaning imperceptibly forward until our foreheads touched. He smoothed his thumbs over my cheekbones, along my jaw, bracing me between the door and his own body until I came back from whatever trance I'd lapsed into.

"I apologize," came the whisper of breath against his face, and he only then realized that he had closed his eyes.

"What happened?" he asked me quietly, he was unwilling to give up this moment of closeness.

I took a deep, shuddering breath, grabbing fistfuls of Foster's shirt near the bottom hem. "I...I have not spoken to my psychiatrist in some time." I hesitated, eyes darting towards a blank screen set up on my desk, then locking to Foster's face again. "She was...affected by my state of affairs."

"I'm sorry," he said quietly.

Another shudder wracked my body and I shifted until our foreheads touched again. "I am so tired of... So..." I closed my eyes again. "I am not myself."

"No," he whispered. "I don't think you are. But I'd like to think you could be again."

I was warmer now and the shaking had mostly subsided, but I was equally unwilling to break from our closeness. "I hope so," I agreed.

Foster pulled back just enough to look at me. "I have an idea."

I opened my eyes and raised an eyebrow.

"A game and a meal. But not here." And before I could react beyond the sudden unbearable tension that seized me, he continued. "Come next door. It's got the same layout as your place. So if you start to lose control, everything will be exactly where it needs to be. But it's not this room, it's not...It's not where your psychiatrist was affected. There are no handprints on the furniture." He offered me a winning, but tremulous, smile. "And I've got a few more windows than you do. I've got a view from my living room that looks out on the bay. It's why I chose that apartment over one on the first floor. It's better there, I promise."

I was uncertain but the tension bled out of me slowly. "I..." I cleared my throat. "I will try."

"That's all I'm asking." He hesitantly pulled away from me so I could move.

I was unwilling at first, staring at Foster with an odd expression, but I shook myself out of it, turned and opened the door.

I walked into the hallway.

And, after only a moment's hesitation, went right into Foster's apartment.

"Would you like a tour?" Foster offered, slinging an arm around my waist and casually supporting me.

I bowed my head, closing my eyes for a few seconds, grounding myself. "That... that would be agreeable," I murmured.

Foster rarely missed an opportunity to run his mouth. "This is the living room. That's my sofa. It's what we sit in when we can't keep our spines straight on those weird mats of yours."

Despite my uneasiness, I still managed a withering glare. "I am aware of what a sofa is, Foster."

"Just making sure," he grinned back. "That's my armchair, there's the TV, that's-" He cut himself off and he looked at me. I was no longer tense or uneasy. "You collect books," I said quietly, almost reverently.

Foster's almost manic grin melted into a more sincere smile, tugging me towards his bookcase. "Yeah. My sister says they're just fancy antiquated kindling since you can download them to your tablet to save on space. But I like them better like this."

I broke away from him, raising a hand, tracing over the spines of the books, tilting my head to read the titles. "Is there a reason you prefer these over the data versions?"

He shrugged sheepishly. "They smell like home to me."

He sighed, leaning closer and kissing my cheek. "Go check out the view from the window," he said changing the subject, he must have seen that it was getting too uncomfortable for me. "I'll get the food ready."

He was already in the kitchen pushing buttons and swearing at the out of date piece of machinery before I uprooted myself from my spot near the bookshelf and made my way to the huge window overlooking the beach. I sat cross-legged on the floor, back straight and posture perfect, a picture of stillness and control. I was more relaxed than I had been all day, almost serene.

Foster dropped to the floor to sit next to me, setting the plates in front of us. "The machines acting up again, so they'll probably taste like stale bananas. Seems to be the flavor it defaults to when it starts dying on me."

He scooted closer and swung an arm over my shoulders. I remained eerily still for a long time before I finally relaxed, against Foster's side.

This one comes after the "Who is Eden now?" Entry. I think...


Gabriel.