After the last class of the day let out, Tamsin figured she'd get the condolences out of the way before she headed to the bar she frequented. That sounded rude and impersonal, but she genuinely was sad for this woman. Mr. Anders was a smart man, and from what she heard from her colleagues, he was a great husband and father.

Mrs. Anders was eerily calm the moment Tamsin entered her house. The house was a cute little bungalow in the Berkeley Hills neighborhood, the rich type where you'd want to raise your children but still get the "Berkeley" feel.

Tamsin gave her final thoughts about Mr. Anders, all positive, of course (she seemingly was a bitch a lot of the time, but she wasn't overtly cruel). She was just praising his work in highly acclaimed science studies when Mrs. Anders shot up from her seat and cheerily declared that it was tea time and would she like a cookie, too? She was clearly in the denial stage; only two days had passed, of course she was.

Tamsin never did well with emotional people. Or emotions in general. Though genuine gestures were not a frequent display for Tamsin, that was not to say she didn't feel; quite the contrary. She would say it made her feel too much. And that was something that she never wanted to deal with.

So, when Mrs. Anders' sons arrived with red-rimmed, sad and disbelieving eyes, she was relieved both at the opportunity to leave her uncomfortable stay and relieved of the new family that would fill the spaces between Mrs. Anders' grief and the following procedures to clear the dead. Upon departure, the awkward silences and "I'm sorry's" felt a little too forced and a little too impersonal when it fell out of her mouth, so ineloquent and foreign.

That was why the cold, refreshing glass of lager in her hand was the perfect end to her day. And, yeah, she had a PhD in psychology and was a well-respected professor, so she knew the ins and outs of the irony of it all.

She eyed the clock on the wall, noting that her friend was running late per usual and chugged the remnants of the beer in her hand before gesturing lazily to Trick, the bartender. Why he had a name like 'Trick' was beyond her, but it reminded her vaguely of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Except that Trick was taller and, well, darker. With fangs.

She thought about this ridiculous comparison and snorted into her glass after her last swallow.

"'Another one?" he asked.

"I called you over here didn't I?" she smirked, her thoughts still swirling with amusement at just what this Trick would be if they were living in a supernatural world.

Maybe a gnome? House elf? Nah, he'd be a Keebler elf. All about cookies 'n shit.

She snickered at her own musings, and given that Trick was now sending her a pointed look that wasn't quite a glare, she guessed she was annoying the man who was in charge of her beer. So she had to play nice. She coughed her laugh away and mentally rolled her eyes.

"Sorry..just had somethin' funny pop up in my head."

Because Dyson was still aggravatingly late, she ordered another drink, but this time she chose something stronger- the type of drink that would make anyone else's eyes water.

Her mind wouldn't stop spewing unwelcome thoughts. She pulled her elbows up and perched them on the desk and placed her head in her upturned palms, cradling her head in a weak attempt to ward off the images and thoughts that mocked her. The strings that tethered her conscience to her heart wavered between sorrow and self-hatred.

Minutes later, she knew Dyson had taken his place beside her. It wasn't the squeak of the tool as he placed his weight on it, nor was it the sound of Trick placing a drink right next to hers. It was that damn smell of leather that wafted from those fucking leather vests.

Finally, he arrived.

"Jeez, Tamsin. You look like a wreck. Who died?" Dyson asked playfully.

Without warning or any pretense, Tamsin punched a single fist into this shoulder.

"What the-" he barked as he rubbed his shoulder, "that really hurt!"

"You insensitive asshole!" she barked and hit him again in the same spot before she downed the remainder of her drink.

"What are you talking about? I only just got here!" Dyson replied. Then, he took in her furrowed brows and the tightened hold she had on her drink like it was some dire lifeline.

Realization crept up to him abruptly like a slap in the face.

"Tamsin, I'm sorry. I didn't realize," he offered and paused a moment, not entirely sure what to say or how to approach her. She had a tendency to get violent when upset and confronted. She resembled a ticking time-bomb.

He settled for a soft and sincere, "Who?"

She looked at him and his concerned gaze and replied with, "No one I'm close to, really. I..It just made me think of.." She trailed off and opted to use a flick of her wrist in a telling gesture; it was something he knew in the past that the duo never talked about. Not really. And, definitely not tonight.

"Let me get you another drink," he finally said.

She looked into his eyes again and gave a small smile, thankful that he didn't pry further. That was the exact reason she called him instead of the one of her dalliances. They'd want to cuddle, and she had never really like that in the first place with them, but sometimes the masochistic part of her couldn't push away the opportunity to pretend.

She'd just lie there after the mediocre sex and hold them to pretend it was her.

It didn't help in the long run; she always ended up hating herself the day after...after opening that wound.

Lauren found that the lab was impressive for a state university. She spent most of the day asking questions and taking mental notes. The staff was friendly enough, a few of the men a little too friendly.

She found herself at her (Kenzi's) temporary home around eight in the evening. It was only when her stomach growled did she realize she hadn't eaten all day. She winced when she though of what could possibly be rotting in Kenzi's refrigerator. There was no semblance of cleanliness and organization in the place. The girl lived like a full out bachelor. Hell, she could have represented a whole frat house just fine in her small, little body. Clearly, Kenzi took after her father and not the shared mother they had.

Against her better judgment, she searched kitchen, and as a result, she frowned, gasped, and flopped herself down on the living room futon.

"What can I say? I live simply. All I need is a TV, some vodka, and fruit loops," Kenzi had said once Lauren arrived. That was only yesterday. Normally, she would get acquainted with the area, find her own place, and be scarily prepared for whatever she set up to do. This time, however, she had to remain at her old place until the business was thoroughly taken care of until its very end. Her place was easily sold with a hefty profit. That was why she found herself making a bed on Kenzi's very uncomfortable futon before searching for a snack.

In the kitchen, she found oreo's, fruit roll ups, pizza leftovers from various establishments, vodka, pancake batter, and a half-gallon of milk.

How the hell did her sister stay alive? She really needed to give her a serious talk about the dangers of getting scurvy.

Thankfully, there had been a pile of delivery menus, and that was enough to feed her for the night.

Lauren had been in a light state of sleep when Kenzi stumbled ungracefully into the place in the middle of the night.

There was a thump and a bang, followed by a "how did that get there?"

Lauren jolted up with a start and gave a small noise of discontent. She had just barely gotten to sleep. She heard shuffling and was going to try to fall back into a peaceful state, but then a small air current of cigarettes and booze wafted over to her nose.

"Kenzi, why do you smell like both an astray and whiskey?"

"And, you're s'posed to be the smart one," Kenzi slurred. "Use your prowers of de..deduction, nerdy pants."

"Prowers?" Lauren echoed.

Somewhere in-between a muttered "m'going to bed" and yet another loud bang, Lauren spotted the figure of another woman slowly approach. The soft, yet unwelcome light trickled in from the street light outside, allowing only the silhouette of the stranger to be seen. Annoyed, Lauren closed her eyes shut, shielding her from the world, most specifically, this situation of a drunk little sister and a complete stranger.

"Uh, hey," the figure said, and Lauren could hear the uncertainty the woman (she was thankful at least that Kenzi hadn't brought home some boy) carried.

"Thank you for bringing Mackenzie home safely. Though, I would rather her not be in such a vulnerable state this time of night. I can take it from here…" Lauren let the end of the sentence drift off so that this stranger took that as a hint to reveal her name.

"Oh," the stranger laughed, surprising Lauren at how pleasing it was to hear. This lightened the weight of Lauren's annoyance, but not by much.

The stranger continued, "I'm Bo. Look, I'm sorry for bringing her like this. After the seminar, I wanted to cheer her up after she failed her exam."

"What?" Lauren asked, surprised. Furious. She'd have to deal with that in the morning. Also, what seminar? She'd ask about that, too.

"Oh, shit. I probably wasn't supposed to say that, huh? You must be the sister, Lauren."

Lauren only nodded then realized it was still dark and the woman probably wouldn't see her. Rolling her eyes at herself, she just said, "Yes. That's me. I'm the sister."

What was that? Lauren chastised herself for sounding so lame.

Bo laughed again, and yes, Lauren concluded it was definitely a pretty sound.

"Well, I see Kenz is in good hands. See you around, Lauren The Sister." Bo teased.

And then she was gone.

As a habit, Lauren padded her feet lightly toward Kenzi's room to check on her safety. When they were children, it was because she was worried Kenzi was having a nightmare or maybe had fallen off the bed.

This night, it wasn't too different. With that loud bang not to long after she stumbled into the room, Lauren was worried that she'd find her sister on the floor as a result of banging her head.

She found Kenzi safe and sound on her bed still in her clothes. With a loving eyeroll, Lauren quietly walked to the end of her sister's bed to remove her shoes. It was complicated and not of the normal shoelace procedure. It was a strange pattern, but upon a quick ten second overlook of its structure, she removed the shoes without fail.

The rest of Kenzi's clothes would have to stay put.

So, Lauren placed a kiss on Kenzi's forehead and said goodnight.

Tamsin awoke with the taste of vague, foul remnants of cheap liquor in her mouth, a pounding headache, and the overwhelming sensation of unwavering nausea. She was a pro at this hangover shit; this happened more times than she could count and more times than she would willingly admit. So, she went about her routine of popping an Ativan and hopping into the hottest shower she could stand.

She walked out of her house and shoved herself and her briefcase into the ugliest truck she'd ever seen, probably will ever see. Despite that and the gas it liked to eat at an alarming rate, she wouldn't want any other vehicle. A few of her colleagues met the truck with firm derision and voiced a statement along the lines of, "You seriously own this old piece of a metal?"

And she'd reply with something along the lines of "Oh, it's cute you act like you think I give a shit about what you think."

The engine sputtered when she finally parked in the university lot. She smiled, not about the coughing fit her truck was apparently having (and had been having for the past few years), but at the fact that in the very near future she'd have her very own parking spot at the front row.

Her first class of the day was the "lower level" classes Evony had assigned the day before, which, in actuality, were the upper level courses that weren't of the graduate variety where Tamsin lay comfortably.

She was met with an empty classroom- not a surprise since she had arrived early, wanting precisely that: silence while she dealt with the remainder of her hangover.

With a sloppy, barely legibly script, she scribbled her title and name on the large whiteboard in the back. A scrawny boy, who's name she found out (from him when he gave his name without invitation) was Atherton, fiddled about with cords and an iMac that sat at the front of the room on its own desk adjacent to hers.

"Keep it down, will you?" she asked, settling her papers in the order she wanted to direct the lecture.

"Sorry, Miss."

"Doctor," she corrected. She worked damn hard to earn that degree; people, especially students, better damn well use it. "Doctor Warwick."

The boy left after ten minutes of resupplying the contents of the room and verified the settings of the electronics, and that was when the students started trickling in.

She swore half of them looked to be around fifteen. Christ, she was getting old. She sucked in a breath before reaching for her lecture notes.

This class, like most undergrad classes, was huge. This certain room held three hundred and twenty seats, and they were filling up. Fast. She knew half of them would be texting throughout the whole lesson while the rest interacted with whatever social media they liked on their laptops. Only a few dozen would actually pay enough attention to her. It was lecture day, not discussion day.

She noticed a few eager faces with their pens poised, a few had their laptops at the ready as they looked at her with intense focus.

As normal, a few spots remained unoccupied at the front row; no one wanted to be that close and that noticeable.

"Good morning. As you can see, I am not your normal professor. It pains me to tell you that Mr. Anders passed away a few days ago. I'm to take his spot. I assure you I am well qualified to teach this class," Tamsin said. She heard a few gasps and a few, "oh shit" whispers.

"I'm Doctor Warwick, and you will address me as such. I normally teach graduate level classes, so please bare with me if I get too intense. I don't know what Mr. Anders gave you for an assignment last, so I'm gonna say we're taking a fresh start. Whatever you needed to turn in is null. There will be a five thousand word essay due each week, a quiz every other week, and of course the midterm and final." There were handfuls of groans. She expected this; Mr. Anders may have been a great man, but he was known to have gone easy on his students.

"In addition, I require mandatory group study sessions. I will place twelve group signup sheets by the door. Ten people per group. You will conduct a study on whatever subject you see fit- as long as it has to do with the subject of this class. This is a semester long study, so it will be do at the end of the semester in a presentation. How you do that presentation is up to your creativity.

"Oh. And, you will be required to show your ID when exams show up. I know of the scams that are played. I used to run one of those in my time," she smirked. The students gave one another looks of horror. They didn't know if they should be scared or impressed.

Ten minutes into her lecture, she took pride that more people than expected were taking notes. She probably scared the wits out of half of them; that's the way she preferred it.

Suddenly, a very thin, very interesting looking girl stumbled into class. Quite literally, she stumbled, and her sunglasses flew off of her face and slid across the floor a few feet.

"Oh, for Jeeve's sake," the girl muttered.

Tamsin stopped her talking all together and crossed her arms while the girl took one of the only remaining seats available in the front row.

"Gee, I'm sorry we started without you, Miss..."

"Malikov. Mackenzie Malikov. Look, I'm so sorry I'm late," Kenzi sputtered as she eyed the rest of the students. "It's just that-"

"Your alarm didn't go off?" Tamsin questioned as she tilted her head. She continued with the same mocking tone in her voice, "Your bus didn't come? You got lost? What was it?"

Tamsin gestured for the girl to get out of her seat and approach her.

Kenzie swallowed, got out of the seat and walked a few feet short of Tamsin and raised her eyebrows in surprised at the gall of this woman. "Um, no," Kenzie said. "I was going to say that I'm hungover and puked about three times on the way here."

The class broke out into laughter and snickers, to which Kenzie ignored.

Tamsin quirked an eyebrow, taken by complete surprise at the bluntness the girl responded with.

Maybe it was because Tamsin herself was still feeling the effects of last night's indulgence that she reached into her bag, took a bottle of ibuprofen and tossed it toward her newest arrival.

Kenzie caught it, easily, took a few pills and dry swallowed them. She got closer and handed the bottle to the professor before she opened her mouth to say, "Dude, you're totally not Mr. Anders. Unless, oh my god, did you get a sex change?"

What? Tamsin blinked.

"Sorry, that assumption is quite out of gamut here. I'm actually your new professor. Mr. Anders has passed away," Tamsin responded.

Kenzie's eyes widened and a few tears gathered. "But, just last week he was telling us about how he was going to adopt a puppy!"

She started sobbing.

Then Tamsin guessed at what could be happening. So, she leaned toward the girl so that only she'd hear.

"Mackenzie, are you possibly still drunk?"

Kenzie sniffled and nodded. "Yeah, maybe."

"Go home and meet me at the counselors lounge tomorrow."