Cameron likes his apartment. It's one of the few things that's his, really his. His parents bought it for him when he graduated, and that's a secret he can never seem to keep from anyone. But the part of that story that never seems to get out is that he bought them out when he turned 22, after a ridiculous one-time payment from clinical trial he helped design.

So yes, it's his.

And right now, the thing that he loves most about it is that he knows there's a pint of gourmet gelato in his freezer. It's been an exhausting day, he spent the whole thing with his mother, fielding questions about his work and whether or not he was going to go to Sarah's place in New York for Christmas. As much as he would love to see his sister, his work schedule isn't exactly nine to five, and he's not sure how Maggie would respond if he asked for a week off.

He slides his key into the lock and swings the door open, then stops dead. Something is wrong.

It's not that Cameron is obsessive. He just likes things a certain way. So yes, he knows exactly where everything was when he left his apartment that morning, and yes, he can tell that a hoodie is missing from the coat rack and there's a mug on the counter that wasn't there before. And if none of that had tipped him off that someone had been, or still is, in his apartment, then the crash coming from his bedroom would probably have done the job. He pauses, frozen, and stares at the partially closed bedroom door. A light flickers through the sliver of the door frame where the door hasn't been slid into place. Heart pounding, he glances around for a weapon. His eyes land on the basbeball bat Kirsten left at his place a week ago. They'd been doing some off-the-radar field work, and when he'd complained that they wouldn't have back up her compromise had been to bring the bat. Now, he wraps his fingers around the base, wielding it like a club. He creeps toward the door, wincing as he hears a growl from inside. It briefly occurs to him to flee the scene and call Fisher from the hallway, but he's an NSA asset, and he's tired of the other's referring to him as "Nervous Nelly".

He pushes with his foot, and the door slides open with a bang, startling the blonde sitting on his bed so much that she topples over the side.

He lets the bat drop.

"Kirsten?!"

There's just a muffled groan in response, and then her head pops up from behind the bed. Her hair is loose from it's usual ponytail, and it's messy, like she's been running her hands through it. Her face is twisted in an irritable scowl, and when a voice comes from the wall behind him, he realizes the tv is on.

"I thought you were going to be out all day." Kirsten says accusingly, eyes narrowed. She climbs back into the bed, and he notices that she's actually settled under the covers, her phone plugged into his charger and sitting on the nightstand. She's obviously made herself at home.

"Um, I was." He mumbles distractedly, taking in the way she looks against his pillows. "But it turns out I can only take a few hours of my mother these days."

She blinks at him. He's talked to her about his strained relationship with his parents before, she knows all about it.

"And why am I the one explaining myself?" He asks, crossing his arms over his chest. "You gonna tell me why you're in my bed? I thought you were a burglar."

Her eyes flit to the bat laying discarded on the floor, lips quirking.

"So you were going to beat me up with my own baseball bat?" She raises an eyebrow. He blushes, annoyed.

"It was handy." He just stares at her for a moment, waiting, but she doesn't offer any more information. Sighing, he climbs into bed beside her, sitting on top of the covers. It reminds him a little of the first night she ever spent here. He'd had an inkling, even then, that she would be important. He hadn't known she'd change his life. They sit like that for a few minutes, silently watching the program Kirsten has on. Eventually it cuts to commercial, and she finally breaks the silence.

"I found another box of Ed's old stuff." She tells him, keeping her eyes on the screen.

"Okay." He says. Pushing her has never worked, so he lets her take her time.

"He was going to adopt me." Her voice is so low he almost doesn't catch that.

"He was…oh. I thought you said that was something neither of you wanted?" He's trying to read her, it's not as impossible as it used to be, but her face doesn't give much away.

"I thought it was, too. I guess I was wrong." She hands over a stack of papers, and he sifts through them. They're forms and requirements for legally adopting a foster child. He glances at the date on one of the half filled out forms.

Kirsten subtly inches closer, like she doesn't want him to notice, but he rolls his eyes and throws an arm around her shoulders, holding the papers with his other hand. She stiffens under his touch, but eventually relaxes.

"Ed was really good to me, and I never did anything to show him I cared. I didn't know how. And this…he cared a lot. I could never be the daughter he wanted." She rests her head on his shoulder, and it's so unlike her that it fills him with concern.

He frowns at the top of her head.

"Kirsten…these papers are from 2005."

She's observant, she must have noticed that. She nods against his shoulder.

"Yeah, so?"

"You moved in with Ed when you were eight… this is six years after that. He wouldn't have started filing for the adoption if he didn't want it. He knew who you were. He wanted to adopt you anyways." He knows Kirsten thinks that her condition makes it impossible to have love in her life. She's wrong though. Her life is full of it.

"Why?" She wonders. He chuckles sadly.

"Because you're remarkable." He reminds her. He sets the stack of paper down. "Are you going to be okay?"

He can practically hear her rolling her eyes.

"I'm fine."

"Mhmm." He mutters dryly. "Which is why you broke into my house to watch Dragon's Den and yell at my TV." He gives her arm a little squeeze.

"They offered him half a million dollars for 30% of his company. He was an idiot to turn it down. He would have quintupled his profits within two years." She scoffs. He grins.

"Is that who you were throwing things at when I got home?" He asks, eyeing the book laying on the floor under his TV. She shrugs.

"You're the one who explains things to me. So when I found this…" She gestures at the papers beside them. "And then I got here and remembered you were going to be out all day, so I used your spare key. And then I got bored."

He frowns.

"How did you know where my spare key was?"

"Did you know that the night Maggie recruited me I broke into the Dean's office by guessing his office lock combination?" She asks. He sighs.

"I guess I forgot who I'm dealing with."

"Queen of the Estupidos." She reminds him, then snorts.

"I'm sorry I wasn't here, Stretch." He murmurs. The idea that she finally came to him for something and he let her down doesn't sit well with him.

"You're here." She says, like that's all that matters. "And you helped."

"Well." He sits up slowly, regretting the loss of contact but deciding the moment needs some levity. "I'm really craving some lemon-mint gelato, how about you?"

Her cheeks turn pink, and he watches, fascinated.

"What?" He asks, wondering why she's blushing.

"I might have eaten it all." She admits, face poker straight. He gives her a dead-eye stare.

"Really." He's been looking forward to that all day. She shrugs.

"I got hungry, and it was either that or cook something. And you know I don't cook."

He flashes back to a month before, when she set off his smoke detector and melted a metal whisk in half. Suddenly a pint of missing ice cream doesn't seem like such a big deal.

"Fine. What do you say we go out and grab some dinner?" He didn't eat much at lunch, it turns out it's hard to enjoy your meal while spending half an hour being criticized by your mother for your choice in flannel. So he's hungry. He raises an eye at Kirsten, and she thinks for a moment before clambering out of bed.

"Thai?" She asks, unplugging her phone from the wall. He stares at her shirt.

"Uh, sure. Hey Stretch, you know you've got a…" He trails off, pointing at the huge yellow stain on her white t-shirt. She looks down like she'd forgotten.

"Oh..." She fingers the fabric, frowning. "Yeah, I got distracted by a guy pitching Universities for dogs and spilled some gelato on it."

His eyes fly to the bed, scanning his duvet for any sign of stains. She rolls her eyes.

"I didn't get any on the bed, relax Mom."

He purses his lips and glares at her suspiciously. Fighting the urge to inspect the bed himself, he walks over to his dresses, and pulls a plaid shirt out of the top drawer.

"Here." He throws it at her. She just looks at it. "To cover the stain."

The yellow spot is mostly under one of her arms, and his shirt should be big enough to cover it. She slips it on, and he has to look away when he realizes exactly how good his shirt looks on her.

"Okay." He clears his throat. "Let's go." He picks up the remote off the floor, and sighs when he sees that he'll probably need a new one. He turns the TV off manually, and Kirsten appears beside him.

"I'll replace the remote." She says, not looking at him. He shakes his head, and tries to suppress a smile.

"Don't worry, Banner, it's fine." The Marvel reference goes over her head, but he's used to that.

He follows her out, and locks the door behind him. This time, he pockets the spare key. He got an extra cut a week ago anyways, he was going to give it to her at work on Monday. Digging into his other pocket, he pulls it out. The key is mostly plain, but there's a word stamped on the front. He hands it to her, and she takes it.

"Stretch." She reads aloud. "You made me a key?"

He shrugs.

"Obviously you need one. Now you don't have to steal the spare." He watches her turn it over in her hands.

"Thanks." She says, sliding it into the breast pocket of her plaid shirt.

"Hey Kirsten." He says, breaking the silence they've maintained as they round the corner to the restaurant. She looks at him. "I think Ed knew. That you cared about him, I mean."

She blinks, surprised with their return to a heavy conversation.

"Why?"

He rubs the back of his neck, thoughtful.

"When you really care about someone, or even, um, love them…I think they know. Even if you don't say it." He looks at her, biting his lip. "Right?"

There are a million words there, unspoken, and he knows she can choose to ignore them. He's holding his breath, he realizes, as he waits for her to respond. She's watching him as well, deep in thought.

"Right." She says, and his breath comes out in a rush. Her eyes are soft, and the smile she's giving him is answer enough for now. Then the moment is over, and his stomach is actually growling, so they make their way inside.

They eat. He marvels at the fact that nothing has changed, but everything has changed, and there's an energy here that was never allowed to be so close to the surface before. She picks all of the shrimp out of her Pad Thai and gives them to him, and he orders her an extra dish of peanut sauce because she always ends up taking his, and the whole thing is an exercise in not saying what you actually mean.

But she knows. And two weeks later, he knows too. They don't say it out loud until she almost dies, which becomes something of a regular occurrence in their line of work.

Later, there's an incident involving a vase and several stitches in Kirsten's left hand, and Cameron forbids her from watching Dragon's Den in bed anymore. But things are good.