Tristan moved back on the bed. "I can wash my hair myself..." he said. 

Caleb wasn't convinced. "If you don't want my help... it's better to just leave it for now. We can always wash it later when you feel more comfortable."

His gentle smile went unseen, as Tristan touched a hand to his greasy head and seriously considered the offer of assistance. He'd never had someone wash his hair for him. The barber would wet it down at most, and Jed refused to shower with him. 'There's no room, Tristan. If you're under the shower head, what am I supposed to do? Stand there and freeze?'

"Help me..?" asked Tristan.

Caleb wanted to lead him by the hand, but it was still too soon to touch him. Last night was an anomaly, he needed to be patient; and not get carried away just because he was in his apartment. 

"Do you want me to help you take your shirt off?" Caleb asked him, his hands held hesitantly behind his back. 

"No need" said Tristan, "It doesn't matter if it gets wet..." 

Sitting on the edge of the bathtub, he waited for Caleb to run the warm water through the shower head. 

"Tilt your head back and close your eyes..." 

The second his eyelids shut, Tristan got scared and opened them again.

Caleb was a still a stranger after all. What better place to kill someone than in a bathtub where cleanup would be easy..?

"I've changed my mind" he said as he shrunk back from him, "I think we should wash it later..." 

Caleb nodded and left the shower head to flip violently at the bottom of the tub. 

"Be careful of your bandages" he reminded before leaving. 

Tristan locked the door behind him, trying to quiet his racing heartbeat. The sudden sense of danger he felt was unnerving. Closing his eyes felt akin to offering his neck to a vampire. He couldn't trust Caleb so easily; what did it matter if his hair was dirty? It was better that than risk what the stranger outside would do to him. At least, what he could do if he wanted to...

Tristan couldn't tell, whether Caleb had some kind of savior complex, or if his motives were driven by some nefarious idea. No sane person would act like this. No sane person would let them... The water was warm, and with great care and utmost frustration, Tristan managed to clean as much of his body as he could before he panicked that the water would seep inside his neatly packaged wounds. He couldn't afford to slow his healing. If he needed to run, he would have to rely on his scratched up legs to carry him.

Without a change of clothes to wear, Tristan toweled himself off and dressed again in his pyjamas. The little bunnies on his pants were certainly not Caleb's style, and the size would definitely be too small for him. He wondered again if they'd belonged to someone else. Maybe he had a habit of picking up strays and playing house? It's what he did with them afterwards that worried him. 

Caleb wasn't in the bedroom, neither could Tristan find him in the living room or kitchen. As he padded into the second bedroom, Caleb called out to him.

"Come outside and get some air!" he said. 

Tristan hadn't noticed the large, glass doors the previous night. He'd only seen them as a wall of windows. Beyond the hall was an outdoor terrace, a patio table with umbrella was surrounded by four cushioned chairs, and sat comfortably beside a bright and glittering swimming pool. 

"What about the neighbors..?" asked Tristan, concerned more than anything, that others would see him and his greasy hair. 

"This is our pool" Caleb told him, crouching down to circle his finger in the water, "There's no-one else on this floor but us. You don't need to worry."

He couldn't help but worry. One foot out of place, and Caleb could say he fell 'accidentally'. Was that his plan..? 

"I'll stay inside" said Tristan, "It's too hot..." 

Caleb quickly followed him, and brought him a glass of water from the kitchen. 

"Do you want me to go out for a while..?" he asked, conscious that Tristan might be overwhelmed by his constant hovering around him. "I'll head to the store and pick up a few things, you can rest as much as you want."

As he grabbed his car keys, Tristan stopped him. 

"Which store?" he asked. 

Caleb was just going to drive around the island until he'd felt that he'd given Tristan enough time alone, he hadn't planned to actually buy anything. 

"Is there something you wanted?" he asked, worried that he'd forgotten something in his hurried preparations. 

"Didn't you say I worked at a store..? I was wondering if that's where you were headed..." 

Tristan was curious if that was how he knew who he was. It's not like he'd been out in Modesh all that much; before they stopped inviting him, he'd rarely gone anywhere except for Carl and Sarah's house, or the places they bothered to take him.

Caleb smiled. 

"You don't need to worry about work for now" he told him, "They're waiting for you to get better. When you're not in so much pain I'll take you there to meet your coworkers. Or... I can ask them to come here and see you? You might not remember them... but it might put you at ease to see another friendly face."

It was a fine line. Caleb was worried that Tristan was on edge with only him for company, but he was equally scared that Tristan's memory would return when he saw his friends. In the end, ensuring Tristan's comfort won out. He couldn't bear to see him frightened.

"I'll be back with lunch. While I'm out, I'll speak to your coworkers about coming here to pay you a visit. Rest until then. If you need anything... If you need anything you can call the front desk downstairs. There's a button on the intercom by the door. We'll sort out another phone soon, okay?"

On his way out of the building, Caleb spoke to the security guard. It was fortunate he was new to the job. "I don't believe you've met my husband yet" he said in the man's native Modeshi. The security guard regarded him strangely, wondering if maybe the foreigner had mis-translated and meant to say 'wife'. 

"I'm married to a man named Tristan Scott" he added for clarity, "And he's recently been injured. Should he call the desk while I'm out I'll need you to assist him. Do you speak English?" 

The guard nodded. "Sure, I speak a bit" he said. He hadn't been working in Modesh for so many years without picking up a little here and there. He'd even had to learn it in school.

Caleb left his number with the guard along with strict instructions. He was only permitted to call two numbers should Tristan request it; either his own or the doctor's. 

"Anything else he needs, please do your best to help him." 

The guard was a little surprised that the rich and muscular occupant of the penthouse was married to man, but not so much that he'd ignore the duty to entrusted to him. Especially with the generous tip he received for his service. Caleb hestitated before making his way to the car. You have to give him space... smother him and he'll leave. Closing his eyes and saying a silent prayer that Tristan would be there when he returned, Caleb left the Phoenicia.

The first thing Tristan did alone in the apartment, was look for cameras. Every nook, cranny, or flashing light seemed suspicious, yet still he could not find whatever it was he was looking for. It seemed too easy, that Caleb would leave him to his own devices. Dressed in his pyjamas and slippers, Tristan opened the door and stepped into the elevator. No-one sprang out to catch him. When he reached the lobby and found the desk, the security guard was watching videos on his phone. 

"Mr Tristan?" he asked, noticing the limping young man in the bunny pants and cast.

Tristan nodded, unsure himself of what he was trying to do. He looked at the mailboxes that ran in lines behind the desk. 

"Oh. No mail today" said the guard, "Was there something else? Do you need me to call your husband for you?" 

Tristan shook his head and retreated to the elevator. He punched in the code and headed back to the penthouse, feeling uneasy that everything seemed so normal. There was nowhere else to go, and it seemed that the freedom he was allowed was greater than he'd expected. After checking the room once more, Tristan curled up on the couch; the fatigue of his expedition downstairs had already tired him out, and it wasn't long before he fell asleep.

"Hello" said Caleb, approaching the young cashier behind the counter of the little foreign supermarket. "I think we spoke on the phone. Tibur..? I'm... Tristan's husband." 

Tibur stared at him blankly. 

"Oh sorry... maybe I got the wrong person." 

"It's not that" said Tibur, "I just didn't expect you to speak to me in Modeshi. English is actually easier. I thought you guys had only recently moved here from Cabi? You sound almost fluent."

"That's right" said Caleb, trying to carefully manoeuvre his words around the smart young student, "We haven't been here long... but I've been doing business with Modesh for years. It's one of the reasons I was chosen to come out here. I have a knack for languages I guess." 

The forced laugh he gave alongside the explanation was passably convincing, and as it happened, it wasn't too far from the truth. 

"I'm sorry if I worried you when I called the store about Tristan... it was such a shock to find him gone, I was quite frantic trying to find him."

Tibur had been surprised when Tristan's husband got in touch. When he said he didn't know where he was, he half expected to be accused of hiding him or something. He was different from the picture he'd formed; he seemed to care more than his previous actions would have suggested. 

"It's understandable" said Tibur, "And given the severity of the accident... you were right to worry. Do they know how it happened..?" 

Caleb knew well enough what had happened, but that part was best left buried. He simply shook his head. "Just an unfortunate fall..." he said.

He prefaced his invitation to visit the patient with a reminder that he'd unlikely remember who he was, but Tibur didn't care; his grandmother had suffered with dementia for years, and it didn't stop him from visiting when he could. 

"Let's go" he said, stepping out from behind the counter.

"What about the shop..? You're more than welcome to come by after you close." 

It was a slow day, and Mr Melik was away again. 

"Doesn't matter" said Tibur with a shrug, "I'll just take an early lunch. Let me message Millie and tell her to cover."

No sooner had they exited the shop, than Millie's bike pulled up outside. 

"What the hell?" she scolded, "You're going to see Tristan without me?" The helmet was removed, and the girl's incendiary eyes traveled from Tibur to the stranger. 

"I didn't realize you were all that close..." said Caleb, suddenly panicking as to what information Tristan might have shared with them about his partner. 

"Close enough" said Millie, "So you're the husband then? The one that wouldn't let him come out to drink with us?"

Caleb had no response. 

"And now he's had an accident. Since you like to keep tabs on him, where were you then? Why weren't you bothered about watching him when it really mattered?" 

That part he felt some responsibility for. "I should have been there, I don't deny it. Rest assured, there will never be another day when I let Tristan fall into danger. I won't make the same mistake again." 

Millie remained unconvinced, but she was worried that another tirade and her visitation rights would be revoked. "So long as you know" she said.

Millie left her bike parked outside the store and accepted a ride in Caleb's air-conditioned car. 

"I already called shotgun" said Tibur, sliding into the passenger's seat, "Before you got here." 

It was near enough to walk, but the day was unbearably hot. Even if Tristan's husband hadn't appeared, Tibur would have closed up anyway. 

"But I thought you didn't drive?" he queried as they pulled away.

"I learned" said Caleb.

"Isn't this the way to your place, Tibur?" asked Millie; "Hey! You're not the neighbor having all the loud sex are you?" she asked of Caleb. 

Tibur answered for him. "It better not be" he said, "it's definitely women's voices I hear from that apartment. There's no way it could have been Tristan..." 

Despite his innocence, four accusatory eyes were burning a hole into Caleb's profile.