The house was swallowed by darkness when Dylan turned the corner and finally saw it, his residence standing silent against the dim streetlights. The structure looked almost hollow in the absence of light, as if it, too, had been waiting and had grown tired of doing so.
As his car rolled closer, the house recognized him. The main door unlocked itself with a soft mechanical sigh, a sound that usually brought comfort. Tonight, it felt strangely loud.
Dylan drove into the underground parking and brought the car to a stop. This space had been renovated recently, long nights spent with Sam and Gibbs, laughing over wiring problems and stubborn panels. The memory felt distant now. He carefully lifted the cake box from the passenger seat, holding it as though the smallest misstep might ruin it. Lena's favorite. He had remembered that, at least.
The door from the parking area opened directly into the lounge. A faint, almost hesitant glow lingered there, emergency lighting perhaps, or something Lena had turned on and forgotten. What unsettled him was the absence of movement.
No QN robots glided across the floor. No soft voice of Style greeted him, announcing night mode or reminding him to rest. Style always did that, calling it night when Dylan fell asleep accidentally or when he explicitly requested it.
Tonight, there was nothing.
Dylan stepped inside and turned on the main light.
The sight before him struck like a blade straight through his chest.
Lena was asleep on the couch, curled tightly on her side, one arm tucked beneath her head, the other resting near her chest as if holding onto warmth that had slowly faded. A blanket had slipped halfway down, leaving her shoulders exposed. She had clearly waited for him. And waited too long.
The cake slipped from his awareness as he placed it gently on the coffee table.
He knelt in front of her, lowering himself as though approaching something fragile and sacred. The faint scent of fresh flowers greeted him.
His hand rose slowly, hesitantly, and brushed her cheek. Her skin was warm.
"I'm sorry,"
he whispered, the words barely existing beyond his breath.
Lena stirred.
Her eyelashes fluttered, and her eyes opened gradually, heavy with sleep. For a moment, there was confusion. Then recognition bloomed, soft and immediate. She shifted forward and wrapped her arms around him without a word, burying her face against his chest.
"I'm back home,"
Dylan whispered, holding her close, cradling her as though he could shield her from every lonely minute he had caused.
He felt her exhale.
"Where were you?" Lena asked quietly, lifting her head to look at him.
"At the National Security Conference,"
he replied. His voice softened as he added, "And I bought your favorite cake."
Her lips curved into a tired smile.
"Bribe accepted."
She studied his face then, really studied it. The tension in his jaw. The exhaustion beneath his eyes. She leaned closer and whispered near his ear,
"Have you eaten?"
"No," Dylan admitted.
She slid off the couch, adjusting the cap shawl around her shoulders as he gently fixed it for her. He followed her into the kitchen, still holding the cake box. He placed it carefully into the refrigerator before sitting down at the table.
Dylan watched her move about the kitchen, slow but purposeful despite her drowsiness. The sound of a pot, the quiet hum of the stove, normal sounds that grounded him in ways he hadn't realized he needed.
Soon, she placed a steaming bowl of creamy soup in front of him.
He looked up at her with something dangerously close to reverence.
"What?" Lena asked with a small laugh, opening the refrigerator to check on the cake.
"You're so good to me,"
Dylan said, taking his first spoonful.
The flavor filled his mouth; rich, warm, comforting. His stomach growled as if reminded it existed.
"How is it?" Lena asked, cutting herself a small piece of cake.
"So delicious," Dylan replied honestly.
He paused, then frowned slightly.
"Where are the QN robots and Style?"
"In their den,"
Lena replied playfully.
He raised an eyebrow, amused despite himself. She sat beside him, resting her head on his shoulder, and in that quiet closeness, regret settled heavy in his chest. He regretted leaving her alone. Regretted not charging his phone. Regretted the boredom, the waiting.
He watched her take her first bite of cake. Pure happiness lit her face, simple and unguarded.
"How is it?" he asked softly.
"So good," Lena said.
He smiled and continued eating, the house slowly feeling alive again.
"Were you scared, being alone?"
Dylan asked later, washing the dishes.
"No,"
Lena replied, sitting on the countertop beside him.
"Sparkle came for a visit. Then there were the QN robots."
He glanced at her and noticed the heaviness in her eyes.
"It won't happen again,"
Dylan promised.
He lifted her effortlessly into his arms. She hummed softly, resting her head against his shoulder as he carried her to the bedroom. He tucked her in and stayed beside her until her breathing evened out, sleep claiming her completely.
"Sweet dreams,"
he whispered.
Back in the lounge, Dylan retrieved something from his backpack, securing it carefully in the safe before placing his phone and laptop on charge. After a shower, the sound of running water echoing through the quiet house, he finally allowed the day to end.
The clock struck half past two.
Night was called.
***
7:00 AM
16th February, Stellar Year 2924
Capaldi
Chaos filled the den.
A man paced back and forth before a sealed door, tension etched into every sharp movement. When the door finally opened, another man stepped out, falling into stride beside him.
"What happened, leader?"
he asked.
"The boss happened,"
came the sharp reply.
Silence followed.
"The order is clear,"
the leader continued. "Erase everything. Move north. We lie low."
He clapped his hands twice as they entered a large hall.
"Move," he barked. "We've got work to do."
The group sprang into action.
Evidence vanished piece by piece. Records destroyed. Traces scrubbed clean. By the time the sun rose higher, the building stood empty once more,silent, untouched, as though no one had ever been there at all.
The calm, however, was only an illusion.
Something had already been set in motion.