Mr. Dagfinn Hetland seemed a rather interesting man, according to his files; nearing his late eighties, he owned a large multi-million-euro business that spanned much of the UK selling highly advanced AI systems and technologies, some of which were currently being used by Overwatch. You spent a good portion of the drive to his manor looking over the case file and finally concluded that this meeting was going to be nothing more than a recap of Overwatch's recent developments and how his systems, and money, were being put to good use. All you needed to do was sit there, look pretty, and hand over whatever files, forms, and documents that were asked for. A simple job really, you didn't understand why neither Jesse nor Lena could do that themselves.

"Come on, Bri, you don't need to really worry about this case," Lena groaned, gently taking the holopad from your hands and placing it on the seat next to her. "What you do need to worry about is what you're going to wear to the Halloween party! It's not too far off now and you've got to come up with some idea!"

You chuckled a bit uncomfortably, tugging at your dress shirt. "O-Oh, n-no, that's okay. I'll just go in some simple dress or something. I'm not really one for dressing up, or parties for that matter…"

"Oh no, that ain't going to fly with me or Mr. Rose," Jesse said, smiling as he shook his head. "You've gotta go as something so Dean can match. There's going to be a contest for best costumes, and I ain't seen him lose in a coupl'a years now."

You flushed a little, looking down at the ground. "Is that so? I was… I was unaware of this, um… I don't have a clue, really…"

"You said this was going to be a good idea," he growled in your ear, his hand squeezing yours just a bit too tightly, enough to make you wince.

"I thought it would be," you whimpered, trying to avoid the laughing gazes of your friends. "Alice thought it was a good idea…"

"You've embarrassed me for the last time!" his voice roared through your ears as pain flared in your cheek, salty tears singeing the flesh. "I can't believe I still put up with you!"

You flinched, unconsciously raising a hand to gently touch your cheek. "I think…" 'I don't want to go… what if I embarrass him? But, he asked me… He wants me to go with him… What do I do?'

Lena shared a concerned look with Jesse as a few tears began to fill your eyes. "Hey, hey, look now, luv, there's no need to get upset over this!" she said softly, moving over to sit next to you, wrapping an arm around your shoulder. "It'll be fine! If you're so concerned about it, why don't you let Dean come up with an idea? I'm sure he'll understand."

You sniffed, frantically wiping at your eyes as you realised you'd begun crying. "Yeah, sure. I think it'd be best if he came up with an idea. I'm not really the greatest when it comes to creativity…"

The rest of the drive took you down to a wealthier district a few hours away from headquarters, down a long, winding street lined with large mansions and manors, each pristine and elegant in their own way and right. Omnic gardeners and landscapers looked up as you passed, only sparing a second of their attention on you before they turned back to their tasks as you drove past. You could swear you saw a ripple run through them, could practically hear the singular thought of "Visitors? No, not ours," as you watched them. It irked you that you didn't see a single human working among them; you were a huge supporter of Omnic rights, had spent plenty of time in protests in both Switzerland and downtown London, had helped out at the shelters near your apartment, even now sending a portion of your pay to the shelters since you could no longer be there as often as you'd like. Seeing all those Omnics out there without a human in sight…

As if sensing your thoughts, your driver, coincidentally also an Omnic, chuckled and looked back at you through the rearview mirror. "Don't you worry, Miss Marsh," he said, his voice friendly in tone. "They're all paid well and given room and board. They're hired for their precision and expertise in the matters their jobs entail, and all of them have applied for the job themselves."

Blushing and embarrassed as you'd just been caught glowering out the window, you turned away from the glass, chuckling under your breath and playing with your hair. "Th-That's good. I-It's good to-to see things are changing."

Lena smiled, gently taking your hand. "That's right! Briallen, you were really involved with the Omnic Rights movements here in London, weren't you?"

"Uh, yeah, I was. I actually helped organise the faire last June, though I managed to catch something the day of and wasn't able to make it."

McCree's eyes widened and he looked over at you. "Wait, the faire in June? Ain't that the one that raised funds to help the homeless?"

"The homeless, the mentally ill, and the hungry, yes," you corrected, smiling. "Most of the proceeds went to them, while the rest went towards the Omnic Rights cause."

"They raised nearly a million dollars in a single day!" he said, laughing a bit in astonishment. "It was one of the most successful Omnic fundraisers ever since the crisis! How on Earth are you not braggin' about that?"

Your smile widened a bit and you shook your head. "Because I didn't do it for the bragging rights, Jesse."

The manor you arrived at was elegant and eerie, at least to you. Whether it was the tall white marble walls sporting spirals of crawling ivy, or the inherent darkness of the windows that watched your every move as you made your way down the clean brick pathway to the towering front doors, you couldn't tell, but it made you incredibly uneasy. The whole building had an aura of heavy despair and doom, creeping its way into your stomach where nausea sprung up and threatened to loose itself all over the pretty front porch. You clutched your portfolio to your chest as you stood behind Lena and Jesse, unconsciously trying to hide behind them as you waited for the door to open.

"Are you sure this is the right place?" you asked, a chill running up your spine. 'This just doesn't feel right…'

Jesse frowned, turning and reaching back to gently squeeze your arm. "Are you alright darlin'? You look a little ill."

"Huh? Oh, no, I'm fine. Perhaps a bit of late motion sickness?" You offered an unsure smile, which he returned as he let go of your arm to turn back to the doors.

One of the large redwood doors swung open slowly, the uncanny face of a human-esque Omnic peered out at you from the darkness. "Can I he-he-he-help you?" it asked, its voice contrasting its faint visage of humanity with its tinniness and glitching. Its lips did not move as it spoke.

Lena flinched at the sound, but kept a small, forced smile. Obviously, she'd been here before. "Yes, we're here to see Mr. Hetland."

"The ben-n-n-nificiary mee-ee-ee-eeting?" it asked, cocking its head like a curious child. Its large blue eyes blinked slowly, clicking as if moving along a track as it moved between the three of you. The more you looked at the Omnic, the more ill and uneasy you felt. It was in a sickening state of disrepair, with many of the wires giving it life and consciousness showing through broken bits of plastic and china. Parts of its skeleton peeked out from behind bits of melted plastic, or were just altogether exposed, giving the Omnic an unfinished, creepy feel. The uncanniness of the face made you feel queasy, as did its familiarity.

"There are-are-are-are three of y-y-y-you, as dis-cussed-cussed-cussed, but thi-i-i-i-i-is one is not the same." Slowly, and with the fluidity of chunky, half-dried glue, the Omnic raised a hand and pointed at Lena. "Le-Le-Lena Ox-t-t-t-t-ton," the finger moved to point at Jesse, "Jesse Mc-Cree-Cree-Cree," the finger turned to you before lowering - more like dropping - to the Omnic's side, "but I-I-I do not know-w-w-w this one."

"Oh," Lena chuckled softly, glancing over at you, her eyes glittering with nerves. "Yes, we forgot to call ahead to let Mr. Auctin know, our negotiator fell ill so we had to find a last-minute replacement. This is Miss Briallen Marsh."

"Nice to meet you," you offered, managing a weak smile.

"Bri-all-allen Marsh-sh-sh. Comp-p-p-p-p-piling data." The Omnic cocked its head, eyes boring into yours as the machinery in its head began whirring loudly. For a few seconds, it just stood there and stared at you, calculating, before it straightened with a nod. "Fo-o-o-ollow me."

You shuddered, almost feeling violated by the in-depth appraisal, and quietly followed your companions as they stepped through the doorway and into the shaded foyer. The oppressive feeling that you had begun to feel on the doorstep became heavier, pressing down on your shoulders and making you wrap your arms around yourself in an attempt to fend off the slight fear that threatened to creep over your skin. A squeak nearly ripped itself from your lips when the doors slammed shut.

"Mist-t-t-t-t-ter Hetland-land-land-land will be d-d-d-down in a min-min-minute. Ple-e-e-ease make yourself-elf at home in-in-in-in the lounge," the Omnic said, tilting its head and gesturing with a chipped and rusted hand toward a room to the left.

You did as you were told, following timidly after your friends and taking a seat next to Jesse on the little couch; Lena took a seat in the armchair beside it. The room was nice, quaint, and fairly victorian in decor. The walls had a beautiful golden floral damask print with a pretty blue background and walnut open-faced bookshelves lined up against them. Each shelf was filled with many old leather-bound books, each well cared for and lacking any signs of sun damage. In the corner of the room, in an elaborate wrought iron cage sat a sleeping Golden Pheasant, whose feathers shone in the sunlight falling upon it.

"Mr. Hetland seems like a rather wealthy man," you commented offhandedly, clutching the holopad to your chest.

"Yes, he is. That's why it's important this meeting goes well," Jesse said, reaching over to gently rub your shoulder, sensing your unease. "Relax a bit, there, darlin'. No good in getting all worked up beforehand."

You gave a small smile, hardly able to give a response before the door to the lounge popped open and both Jesse and Lena took to their feet. You followed suit, turning to watch as a rather charming old man came striding into the room, leaning on an elegant cane.

Dagfinn Hetland could be described as a "silver fox"; for a man in his late eighties, he had a charmingly handsome face with very few wrinkles and a full head of silver hair. His cane seemed nothing more than an accessory as he stood tall when he stopped to look at his guests. Brown eyes settled strangely on you and the edge of his lips quirked up in an uncanny smile. Quite like his omnic, Hetland seemed to peer straight into your soul.

"Lena, my dear, how lovely to see you again," he said, his unwavering gaze sticking to yours for a few seconds before he finally looked away. He stepped forward, holding a hand out, which Lena took a moment to accept, fighting back a grimace when he kissed the top of her hand. "How's Emily, still doing alright?"

Lena chuckled a bit awkwardly. "Well, I hope she's doing okay. She and I kind of split a while back."

Hetland frowned a bit, tucking his cane under his arm to cup her hand in both of his. "I am so sorry to hear that, Lena. You and Emily made such a handsome couple. But, there are always more fish in the sea."

Still awkward, Lena nodded and gently pulled her hand away, tucking it into her pocket.

Hetland didn't seem to react too much, instead turned quickly to Jesse with an equally bright smile. "And Jesse, the old cowboy."

Jesse chuckled, shaking his head as he shook hands with the old man. "Well, I ain't old yet, I can tell you that. I've still got the quickest draw in the west."

Hetland laughed. "Good, that's good. I'd hate to see you outdone by some new upstart. And who is this new face? I don't think I've seen her before," he said, turning to you. His dark eyes bored back into you and the smile he sported gave you the impression that he was lying.

"Bri-Briallen Marsh," you supplied, holding out a hand. "It-It's nice to-to-to meet you, sir."

He quirked an eyebrow, as if he expected a different answer. Like lightning, his hand shot up and gripped yours. Tightly. You watched in uncertainty as the skin of your hand turned white and pain started to blossom in your fingers, though you kept a forced smile. Then, almost as quickly as he had grabbed it, he dropped your hand, seemingly satisfied. "It certainly is a pleasure, my dear. Let's get down to business, shall we?"

A little shaken, you turned to sit back down, settling back into the couch next to Jesse. Your hand throbbed slightly and you clutched it gently in your lap, trying not to look Hetland in the eyes. You didn't like the look you found in them; cold, calculating, and knowing, a gaze you felt that you knew too well, though you couldn't pinpoint why.

"Oh, dear, oh that won't do," Hetland fretted, shaking his head from his seat. "It appears in my old age I forgot to put a pot on for the tea. Dairile can't do it all on her own… Would you mind accompanying her, Miss Marsh? You can just leave the holopad there and she will lead you to the kitchen."

Your head snapped up in shock, a glance towards Jesse told you it was fine. "Oh, uh, n-n-no, not at all s-s-sir. I-I'd be happy to."

Hetland smiled. "Wonderful, thank you very much."

Hesitantly, you stood, placing the holopad where you sat and went to follow the Omnic apparently named Dairile. Its joints creaked as it walked and it said nothing, leaving you in an uncomfortable silence as you made your way through the wallways.

The kitchen was clean, enough to look hardly used, which was concerning. Did Hetland eat at all? This was a huge manor, didn't he have any other family living with him?

"I-I-I will get the ke-ke-kettle boiling," Dairile said, pulling the old metal kettle out of a cabinet near the oven. "You-You-You get the tea cup-up-up-ups. Top cab-cab-cabinet-et-et." It pointed toward the cabinet it spoke of and turned to its task.

You fought the shiver that rose up your back from its glitching voice box and pulled the tea set out of the cabinet. It was gorgeous, beautifully ornate porcelain set painted with scenes of spring. Fitting for the level of aristocracy the manor seemed to display.

With gentle hands you began placing them on a tea-tray that sat on the counter, first the plates, each with their own special bird on them, and then their matching cups. About halfway through, your hands started shaking, making it difficult to place the cups down without making them clink loudly against the plates. You had no idea what brought on this anxiety; the kitchen was quiet, save for the sound of the gas stove and the ticking of a clock that you couldn't find.

'I know you.' A voice whispered in your ear, child-like and wispy.

You jumped, almost dropping one of the cups, and looked around. There was no one there, and the Omnic was still staring at the kettle, its back turned to you. 'That couldn't have been the Omnic, the voice sounded nothing like it… Am I just hearing things?'

"The tea is-is-is in the jar. Two-Two-Two tablespoon-oon-oons in each cup," the Omnic said, confirming your thoughts. Its cracked metal hand pointed at a porcelain jar on your right, also decorated with scenes of spring.

"R-Right," you answered, picking up the jar and going to take it over to the counter. You poured the allotted amount into each cup as instructed. Something didn't feel right. Goosebumps ran up your arms and a chill pressed against the back of your neck, making the hair stand on end.

'I KNOW you,' the voice repeated, and you froze. 'I tried to escape… You stopped me, held me down, held me captive…'

There was a clicking sound, soft, almost inaudible, and then a flurry of movement. The jar was knocked from your hands, shattering on the ground and sending loose tea leaves flying everywhere, something grabbed you by the back of your neck and threw you across the kitchen into the white tiled wall which cracked under the force. Pain shot through your body as your head smacked against the floor, but you didn't have time to let out a gasp before the Omnic was on you again, hauling you up by the hair and pinning you to the wall by your throat.

Malice burned in those glassy blue eyes and a snarl tore its way across the porcelain face, cracking the thin layer of paint which covered it. Thin metal fingers closed around your neck, slowly cutting off your airway. 'They killed me because of you!' the voice screamed, almost laughing as you frantically fought to pry the fingers away from your throat. 'And now, I'm going to kill you!'

"J-Jess-" you croaked, your voice cut to a thin whisper as the Omnic squeezed your throat.

'Oh, no, don't even try to call for help! They won't hear you!'

"Is everythin' alright in there?"

You blinked and the scene changed. You were standing, leaning over the counter, trembling with tears streaming down your cheeks, the jar of tea in shards by your feet. Your throat felt raw, as if you'd been screaming, or choked. The Omnic was still standing by the oven, watching you. A flurry of coughs ripped themselves from your chest, bringing you to your knees as oxygen went rushing back to your head.

"Whoa now, pumpkin, take it easy," Jesse said, swooping in to catch you before you fell. "What happened, what's wrong? Darlin' you're bleeding!"

Shaking, you looked down to see a large gash on your palm that was actively leaking blood. You couldn't feel the pain. "The-The-The Omnic!" you managed, looking over toward the android. "It-It-It threw me-" you stopped short as your gaze turned towards the wall you had been thrown into; there was no sign of any damage. "N-No, no I'm sure of it!" Frantically, you turned back to Jesse, catching sight of Hetland standing in the doorway behind Lena, watching.

He was grinning from ear to ear.

"Jesse, maybe you should take her home," Lena suggested, looking worriedly down at you. "I'll stay and finish the meeting."

You sobbed, shaking your head. "No, no, it happened! I swear!"

"Alright now, sweetpea, you just take a deep breath, okay? We're going to get you home to Angela and she's going to take good care of you," Jesse murmured, scooping you up and holding you to his chest.

Angela's clinic smelled of the usual Tekoe tea and camphor with a slight hint of hospital grade disinfectant, a smell which clung to you for a while after every check up. The lights buzzed softly, illuminating everything underneath them with their fluorescent, unnatural light, bringing you back to your days in the hospital back in Switzerland. You'd spent nearly a year there before the hospital decided that, since you couldn't pay for anything, you'd have to leave, and kicked you out. Thankfully, you'd mostly recovered by then.

Jesse sat next to you, a hand pressed comfortingly against your back as you leaned against him, cradling your bandaged hand with the other.

"Well, the good news is, your hand will heal," Angela said, sliding over to you on her rolling stool. "What I'm more worried about is your mental health. Briallen, when was the last time you saw your therapist?"

You frowned and looked away. "I'm not psychotic."

"That doesn't answer my question."

"About four and a half years," you murmured, refusing to look up at the doctor.

"Scheisse," Angela sighed, rubbing at her face. "Do you know how dangerous that was, especially after your crash?! So many problems could have manifested-"

"I'm fine, Angela," you said through gritted teeth, squeezing your uninjured hand in a fist. Jesse rubbed your back.

Angela went quiet for a few moments, her gaze sad. "I'm assigning you a therapist. I want you to see them on a weekly basis, at least, until we get this figured out. Don't argue with me," she said, cutting you off before you had the chance to speak against it. "I will let Morrison and Rose know so they can adjust your schedule. Your therapist will contact you later today, it's best you see them now while the incident is still fresh in your mind."

You clenched your jaw in frustration, closing your eyes. 'I don't need to see a therapist, I KNOW what I saw, and it was real… At least, I think it was...'

"As for your hand, I'll give you another bioemitter to help with the healing and I want you to stop in tomorrow to change the bandaging. Also," she turned to you, having begun typing on her computer, no doubt already formulating emails. Cerulean eyes met yours, watching you. "I want you to take at least a week off work. It'll help with the stress and it'll be good for you, I promise. Go to lunch with your friends, stay in bed all day, do whatever you need to just take a break."

"Yes, ma'am," you sighed.

She looked over at Jesse. "I want you to stay with her for a while, make sure she's okay."

"Yes'm," he replied, rubbing your back again. "I'll take good care of her, promise."

Angela sat with a hand tangled in her bangs, a still steaming cup of tea sitting beside her. Ana's office, full of comfortable armchairs and constantly smelling like a mixture of myrrh and cinnamon, was a comfort to the stressed medic. She had often come there back in the old days of Overwatch, sometimes seeking counsel from the older woman, other times just needing a friend to talk to and a cup of tea to calm her nerves. Ana had always been a very motherly figure to everyone on base, always willing to offer advice or just a shoulder to cry on. Today, however, there was no advice to be given, no tears being shed; the tone of the room was somber, tense, and Jack's anxious pacing was not helping.

"Jack, would you please sit down?" the old woman asked, apparently as fed up with the constant movement as Angela was. "Stressing out over this is not going to help anyone, let alone Miss Marsh."

"She's right, you know," Angela sighed, shifting to rest her chin on her hand as she reached to take a sip of her tea. "Maybe we need to tell her, Jack. She's going to find out sooner or later. Especially when it comes to her rate of healing. Jesse told me he saw the bruises on her neck disappear before his very eyes."

Jack shook his head, falling back into an armchair across from the medic, foot tapping out a nervous rhythm on the floor. "She's not going to find out anything. I've already told her to drop the Morgan files she was looking into."

"Told or commanded?" Ana asked, stirring her tea.

"Whether it was an order or a request doesn't matter, we all know her well enough to know she's not going to give up that easily," Angela cut in before he could answer, rubbing her forehead. She could feel a headache coming on.

The room went quiet, the air filled only with the sound of a ticking clock and Ana's cat purring softly. The quiet would have almost been calming if it weren't for the subject at hand. It would have stayed quiet for longer but Angela had too many thoughts on her mind.

"Jack, we've both known her for quite some time, but you've known her far longer, ever since she was a child. Did-" she didn't even get a chance to ask her question before the old soldier shook his head and interrupted her with a question of his own.

"You said she had relived a memory?"

Angela sighed. "Not necessarily. She connected with an omnic and saw its thoughts. It recognised her, told her that she had stopped its escape. I think… We are aware of Mr. Hetland's involvement with Aderyn-"

"Are you trying to suggest that Aderyn was experimenting with more than just genetics?" Ana asked, eyes wide as she leaned forward.

"Not Aderyn herself, no, but her colleagues, perhaps. They weren't exactly morally, legally, or ethically in the right. It is probable that they were playing around with something far more dangerous than just genetics."

Jack shook his head again. "It can't be possible…"

"Think about it, Jack, how else would Briallen be here, and so young at that? It's the only thing that makes sense!"

"Angela does have a point, Jack," Ana pointed out, drawing her lips together. "Briallen should easily be ten years younger than myself, but she appears to be no more than twenty-six. There's no doubt in my mind that Aderyn's done more to that poor girl than we may ever know."

Angela watched the old soldier, her eyes soft with understanding. She knew how much he blamed himself for Briallen's past, for everything she went through, for not being able to keep Aderyn from going down the path she did. "Jack, if you just let me, I can figure out how to reactivate the genetic code and we can make up for what Aderyn did by teaching her to fight for good. We-"

"No! We're not going to do anything!" Jack barked, frowning over at her. "We're going to let Briallen be. We're going to let her lead as normal a life as she can under Overwatch. It's what I owe her, it's what she deserves. What is the point in telling her everything if she's not going to change?"

"But what if she does?" Angela asked, her brows furrowed in concern. "What if she changes back on her own?"

"She won't." Jack's words were firm, surprising in their assuredness, as if he knew exactly what would happen with the young woman he felt responsible for. He knew nothing, however, knew even less about her current state than Angela did.

Neither of the women in the office spoke up as Jack stood, his presence commanding and filling the room as he looked between them before turning and leaving.

Ana's cat had stopped purring and the air tasted bitter in the wake of the conversation, leaving Angela feeling shaken, drained, and disappointed. She had hoped Jack would support her idea, support bringing the old Briallen back.

"You have to understand, Angela," Ana sighed, shaking her head and setting down her teacup, "that what Jack wants for Briallen isn't a life filled with war and combat. I was the same way with Fareeha, you know. We, all three of us, know what it's like to lose friends in combat, what it's like to live in a constant state of war. Is that really the life you want Briallen to lead?"

"No, I suppose not," Angela admitted, rubbing at her temple; her headache had arrived. "But I don't see the point in not telling her about her past…"

"Sometimes we have to let the past go in order to move on to the future."

"You don't have to take care of me, Jesse, I'm not a child," you said, rubbing your face as you watched McCree open the tiny fridge in your kitchenette and pull out a bottle of water.

"That may be, but I've been given orders from Angela," he chuckled, coming back to sit beside you on the couch, opening the bottle before holding out the water to you, "and no one wants to get on Angela's bad side."

"I guess that's true." You took a small sip from the offered bottle and set it down on the coffee table, closing your eyes. 'I know what I saw… I'm not crazy, I'm not!' "Whoa, hey!" Your eyes flew open as Jesse picked you up, shifting you to sit on his lap while he wrapped his arms around you.

"I know you ain't crazy, pumpkin," he murmured, setting his chin on the top of your head. "I know you think you don't need to see this therapist, that Angela's just bein' a bit crazy. But, believe it or not, every one of us needs someone to talk to. Hell, I gotta therapist, and-"

You laughed a bit, shaking your head. "I know how important a therapist is, Jesse. My therapist after the crash helped me come to terms with myself and what happened. I just… I know what I saw, Jesse, I felt the pain, hell my head is killing me right now." You took a shuddering breath, feeling the tears well up in your eyes. "I- that Omnic tried to kill me… I felt the fingers wrapping around my throat, I felt the fire in my lungs, I felt my consciousness fading."

"Oh, baby," he sighed, gently taking your hands into his, thumb rubbing against the back of your uninjured hand. "I can't really say anythin' other than I believe you."

"Don't lie to me, McCree." The words tasted bitter on your tongue, shocking the both of you into silence. 'That… That didn't sound like me…' "I-I-I'm sorry, I-"

Jesse shook his head a bit, letting out a soft sigh. "Don't apologise, you ain't got nothing to apologise for. Let's just talk about something else, shall we?"

You looked down at your hands, marvelling at how much larger his were than yours. Naturally, you turned your hand over and caressed the metal of his fingers, curious. "Can you feel anything?"

"Hmm? Oh, you mean in my hand?" He chuckled, flexing his fingers against yours. "In a sense, I suppose. I can feel the pressure of your hand on mine, but I can't feel any warmth from it. Which is a blessing and a curse. I mean, I can pull food out of the oven without using an oven mitt now."

You let out a sniffly giggle, your skin tingling as the metal of his hand began to warm. "And how is it a curse?"

His voice was soft as he responded. "Well… I quite like being able to feel that warmth. Reminds me that I'm still human."

You dissolved into meaningless conversation, just enjoying having the company for a while. While you loved hanging out with Lena and Hana and the others, Jesse was a different kind of companion; a lot softer and calmer than you would have expected from the cowboy. In fact, he seemed almost melancholy, especially as he brought up Dean.

"So, you and Dean really going to the party together?" he asked, looking down at you as you took a drink from the bottle of water, his smile drooping a bit when you nodded, despite how hard he tried to hide it. "That's gotta be exciting. I bet you two will make a dashing couple."

You furrowed your brows at his tone of voice and opened your mouth to ask what was wrong when your phone started going off. Frowning, you glared at the offending device. "I'm not answering that."

Jesse laughed. "Come on, sugarpie, you gotta answer it. It's most likely your therapist, and you heard Angela, best to get this out of your head while it's fresh."

"I don't want to answer it though…"

"If you don't answer it, I'll do it for you," he warned, giving you a devilish grin.

You raised an eyebrow, refusing to move.

"Alright, you asked for it." He reached forward with a grunt, not wanting to knock you off his lap as he leaned to grab your phone and press it to his ear. "Dave's Sperm Bank, you spank it, we bank it, how can I-"

"OH MY GODS! Jesse, no! Give it to me!" You cried, fighting back laughter as you wrestled the phone from his hands.

He released it with a teasing grin, letting you slip away to have a proper conversation.

"I am so sorry about that, Jesse had my phone. This is Briallen Marsh, how can I help you?" you said, desperately trying to amend for Jesse's antics.

"Hi, Briallen, I'm Dr. Penn, the therapist Angela was talking about. She mentioned she wanted you to come see me before the end of the day. What time is best for you?"

As soon as the young Brit left the manor, Dagfinn leapt up and hurried to his office. He tore into his cabinets, tossing papers left and right until he found the file he was looking for. "Let's see, let's see… brown hair, check… brown eyes, check… I'd recoginse that cheekbone structure anywhere, they've got Aderyn's name written all over them… Height checks out… Ah, here it is. Living metal arm, right side." His grin nearly split his face in two as he looked down at the image of the young woman he'd met earlier. "Oh, how the years have done you well, child," he murmured, shaking his head at the more menacing countenance that glared up at him from behind its glossy, card stock prison. Her countenance.

With a speed previously unknown to men his age, he sprinted over to his computer, where he brought up a call. Within moments, the face of a tired, angry older woman popped up before him.

"What is it, Hetland, this better be important. Have you any idea what you are interrupting?" she asked with a scowl.

He dipped his head in apology. "My apologies, Dr. Morgan, but I have some news I'd thought I'd share with you. I'm sure it will brighten your mood considerably."