Note: So sorry for the wait! I was planning on uploading this in mid/late June, but I forgot I had my first professional theater performance then and I was SO BEAT. Then when I got some energy back, I was aiming for early July, but my dog suddenly couldn't use her back legs on Tuesday. We tried giving her medication to see if it helped, but she had to be put to sleep two days later.

Then, as though her eyes were getting used to darkness, the unicorn began to perceive a second figure in the cage. They loomed hugely over the captives of the Midnight Carnival, and yet they were joined to them: stormy dreams sprung from a grain of truth.

In the waiting room for Blue Sun, there's Blaine Anderson for his checkup. Simon runs through the tests with him as easily as if he's playing a game with River, and he's not sure how he's going to feel when their local prince gets better and doesn't have to come here anymore. (The nurses are conflicted at hoping he stays in therapy.)

Derek Morgan sticks his head in the door. "Dr. Tam? Did someone - whoops, sorry. The nurse said you were done."

"Don't worry, we're almost done. Just go to my office." Simon looks at the list on his clipboard. "So, what are the words, Blaine?"

"Catnip, regular, drive-through, consumption, and waterfowl."

Simon writes it down on his records and hands him the second sheet of paper. "Next list - you have a couple minutes." And he steps into his office. "What were you asking, Agent Morgan?"

"Did you know anyone called Tori Grayson?"

"Oh, redhead Tori?" Simon asks, and Morgan nods in the tight way of uncertainty. "He's one of the lawyers, why?"

"That's… interesting." Morgan can't help looking at the door to Blaine's room. "He was visiting Alex, and according to what his son Nick said about him, he's supposed to be a government agent. Nick was eight when his parents divorced, but if he remembers right…"

"That is a strange career path." Simon agrees. "Why are you asking me?"

"We think Tori and Alex might be in league," Morgan says. "Alex has built this massive love story in his head about him and Blaine. Even if he has a mental disorder like erotomania to explain away everything as some secret relationship, this long-term planning is very uncommon for garden-variety stalkers. He might have been enabled by a third party somehow, and that's at least two or three crimes right there."

"Why do you think it's Tori Grayson?"

"Alex knows way too much about Blaine," Morgan says. "He's been stalking Blaine for weeks if not months and the Dalton staff only found out when his friends noticed patterns. He recognized Blaine's house manager, and he knows which dorm Blaine sleeps in. Most people can't do that without some kind of help."

"And since Tori's son is one of Blaine's friends - would Nick have unknowingly given Alex that kind of information?" Oh, he'll need something extremely alcoholic once his shift is over.

"Nick has a restraining order on his father," Morgan says. "We don't think he'd have contacted him frequently enough for that."

"He has a what?!"

"I know," Morgan admits.

Apart from the looming suspicion that therapy's going to see a lot more of two certain Warblers in the foreseeable future, Simon's quite relieved.

Blaine only gets one word out of the next set wrong when Simon checks on him.

"Your short-term memory's been normal for a week," Simon congratulates him. "Two more weeks and we can officially say you have no lasting brain damage."

"Awesome!" He leaves, waving to Morgan on the way to the stairs.

In Sansa's office, she sits across from Prentiss. "He doesn't remember anything we don't know already," she sighs. "In fact, he remembers less. And he can't make sense out of some bits. There's how Kurt… was a unicorn?" she squints at her notes. "Yeah, that's not very useful."

"Have I heard your name somewhere, Mrs. Tyrell? I'm sorry, it's just-"

"You know who I am, Agent Prentiss," Sansa snaps. "Sansa Stark. My father is Lord Ned Stark of Winterfell, Prime Minister of England. My husband is Loras Tyrell, heir to Highgarden. My sister-in-law Margaery is married to Renly Baratheon, fifth in line to the throne of England. Fourth if Robert keeps at his hunting trips and parties. Third if Stannis and his mad fire-religion preacher make him so unpopular that they finally remove him from succession."

"Worth a shot," Prentiss admits. "Why did Witness Protection not change your name? Granted, you're married, but the name 'Sansa' isn't too common across the pond."

"But Tyrell is," she retorts. "And I'm working with troubled teenagers as opposed to socialites or company heirs, or the general millionaires who have a reason to know me." Sansa sighs. "Back to Blaine's crazy stalker-murderer, please."

"Do you know who Tori Grayson is?"

"Tori the lawyer with the extremely not-lawyer son?" Sansa chuckles.

"His son is Nick Grayson - one of your old patients," Prentiss says, and the redhead chokes.

"Nick?!" She bangs her head against the back of her chair. "Oh seven hells, what else did that boy not tell me?"

"I know, right?" Prentiss replies. "But he probably didn't know Tori was working at Blue Sun since he has a restraining order on him."

"At least I know that," Sansa tells her, groaning. "Anyway. What about Tori?"

"We think he might be working with Alex. The kidnapping seems out of the blue to most people, but once we thought about it, it was extremely well-thought out compared to your usual stalker's 'follow them around and then make a move' MO. But going on how he's acting in the lockup, he doesn't have the patience for that. Unless he's secretly a genius."

"So he's working with someone who does." Sansa picks at her chair. "And you think it's Tori?"

"He was talking with Alex once," Prentiss says. "Not much of a case, but considering Tori's a lawyer and his son is friends with the victim, it's as good of a lead as any."

"Why do you need me? I'm a therapist right now."

"Well, you've been working with Blaine and Nick for a while," Prentiss says. "It's too soon to say right now, but just keep an eye on them."

"I'm not working with Nick anymore, though."

"But the Erlking is going to be Nick's cousin in February, and you happen to have a history with him." Prentiss hopes she's gotten one over on Sansa, but she feels bad - and annoyed - when Sansa only sighs.

"His job is finding people. My parents have a lot of money, so logically, he found me rather more quickly than usual," Sansa says. "That's all."

"No it's not," Prentiss says to her.

"Well, that's all I want to tell you right now," says the redhead. "Is that it about Blaine, Agent Prentiss?"

"I guess," Prentiss sighs. "Thank you, Mrs. Tyrell."

"Next time you fall in love with a minor, please try not to lose control and strangle his equally minor-aged boyfriend." A black-haired man with green eyes lets Alex out of his cell. "I've pulled enough strings for fifty cats this week, and now I've completely lost track of Sansa -"

"Whatever, Littlefinger." He knows the other man's probably checked for guards already, but he can't help a quick glance to both sides. "You know, Blaine might be just under eighteen, but at least he's not married."

Littlefinger scoffs. "Loras Tyrell glitters as much as David Bowie. Nobody's fooled, especially not Sansa."

They move through the halls to the back door, with the security cameras still and dark: Whatever Littlefinger did to disarm them, it was from a computer.

"Your carriage, my lord," Littlefinger unlocks the car, and they drive away with the lights off.