You cradled the teacup in your hands, letting the porcelain warm your chilled fingers. The tea was delicious, expensive, but delicious, and the tea cakes were amazing as well. It all felt like a bribe, like a distraction meant to ease your frustrations. It worked.

Mariam was seated across from you, looking absolutely regal in her plush chair. There was a hint of amusement in her eyes, possibly at your current state of confusion and shock. Her husband stood behind the chair, sucking on a pipe as he looked out the study window. Always in a fine suit, his graying black hair smoothed down with expensive scented gels, Mister Dominik Knight had always cut an imposing figure, never looking anything less than the gentleman his paycheck portrayed him to be. Nevertheless, he had greeted you with a warm, saddened smile, giving you a hug for the first time in the five years you'd known him when you'd arrived.

"More tea, dear?" Mariam asked, gesturing to the teapot.

"Uh, no, thank you though," you said, shaking your head.

The study was quiet, waiting for you to speak. You knew the Knights wouldn't, not until you'd asked the right questions first.

"How, um, how long have you known?" you asked, delicately setting your teacup down, finding yourself quickly missing the comforting heat of the cup in your hands.

"Ah, Briallen, you must be more concise than that," Dominik chuckled, puffing out a ring of sweet-scented smoke. "After all, there are many things we know."

You frowned. "Okay, how long have you known about Overwatch. The rebirth, me, what happened to Gibson…"

"We've known about the rebirth of Overwatch practically since the day it was commenced," Mariam said, pouring herself another cup. "Before the PETRAS act, we were helping to fund Overwatch, and, now, afterwards, we are doing so again. We were one of the first families they contacted, and we were delighted to help refund them again, weren't we Dominik, dear?"

He nodded. "Of course! It is sad that there were no more tax refunds for the donations, but we are happy to help however we can! Now, you, dear, are another story. We had an inkling of what job you had taken on when Gibson had told us you moved and probably wouldn't be coming back for Christmas. We knew you couldn't have moved that far and to disappear so quickly, it was handiwork we've seen before."

"We learned about Gibson the day Mr. Morrison called us," Mariam said, looking sadly down at her cup. "He'd expressed his sincerest condolences, he hadn't realised Gibson was our boy, you see. He said if he'd known he would have called a lot sooner. That information, dear, that he was trying to smuggle out, did it ever make it?"

You had to smile softly at that and nodded. "Yeah, uh, it did. Son of a bitch slipped the drive into my pocket before we were ambushed, probably figured it'd be safer with me." You played with your fingers, feeling the familiar tingle in your nose that you squashed down. Talking about Gibson made you feel… wrong. You didn't like it. "So, he didn't… he didn't die for nothing. We're putting that info to use now. Arachnid is going to pay for what they did."

Mariam nodded, her expression grim. "Good. I'm not normally one who puts their stock in revenge, but after what they did to my boy I wouldn't mind seeing a bit of it in my life."

You nodded again. "I'm… I'm sorry about lying to you, I hadn't known that you knew and that's what I was briefed to say-"

"It's alright, dear, we understand," Mariam assured you, shaking her head. "Now, are the girls going to be alright?"

"Poppy and Lyra should be fine, I know the security around here is amazing. They also weren't tied directly to me, so they shouldn't be on Arachnid's hitlist. It's the triplets I'm worried about," you confessed, wringing your fingers again. "They were in constant contact with Gibs and myself, which makes them a juicy target in Arachnid's eyes. I'm planning on convincing them to move into a safe house in London, at least until this Arachnid business is sorted."

Mariam's eyes narrowed. "You know that's not going to go down well with them. Those three have always valued their freedom, especially Caelen. They're going to feel like you're caging them in."

You pinched the bridge of your nose, sighing. "I know. But, I don't know what else to do. I can't let them go back to Washington, it's too far, assigning them guards is going to be a no-go because we don't have the resources. I can't let them get hurt. I already failed once."

"Briallen, it wasn't your fault. No one blames you for this," Dominick said, frowning over at you. "We certainly don't."

"While that's nice to hear, Mr. Knight, I can't agree with you on that. Gibson's safety was my responsibility and I... failed. But I won't let that happen again. I have plans in motion to ensure that it never happens again." You stood, smoothing down your turtleneck and draining the last of the tea from your cup. "Now, I have to go make sure my… partner isn't dying out there in the family room. We left him alone with the girls and I don't know how well he does with children."

The triplets arrived late, as usual, and took their time greeting everyone but you first. Which you'd made sure of, hanging out in the backyard with a glass of wine that you'd hardly touched for the past half hour. It was Sylvia who found you first, offering a hug, but understanding when you refused. You'd been touched too much today, you were getting overwhelmed. You offered her a sip of wine, which she accepted.

"You know, our mother would always offer us a watered down cup of wine on special occasions," she said dreamily, handing the glass back to you. "I used to hate it when I was a kid, now look at me."

You chuckled, taking another sip of it yourself. "I wish I had memories like that to think back on. Perhaps it could have made me a better person. How was your flight?"

"Boring. Iris snored the entire time. Briallen, I-"

"Of course she did, that girl could sleep through anything. Remember that storm we had that year? Sounded like the wind was trying to tear the bricks off the building, all three of us were awake and she was still sleeping like a baby." You smiled, swirling the wine around a bit. It had a nice, dark colour to it, almost like blood. You screwed your smile in place as the memory hit you again, and looked away, trying not to think about Gibson laying there, his throat-

Syl laughed, a light titter that broke into your thoughts.. "That she was… How've you been, Bri? You dropped off the map, Gibs said you weren't around anymore."

You sighed softly, sitting down on one of the lawn chairs. The funeral hadn't even started yet and it was already exhausting you. It was exhausting to keep up this facade, to tell everyone you were okay when you really weren't. It was exhausting trying to figure out how one is supposed to act at a funeral, this was your first, after all. Rolling your lips, you nodded. "Yeah, well, I, um… I kind of had to… I joined Overwatch."

She scoffed. "Yeah, alright, keep your secrets then."

You raised your eyebrows and took a sip as you looked up at her.

"You're… You're not serious, are you?! Bri, how could you keep something like that from us!" she wailed, giving your shoulder a light shove.

"What's going on out here? Bri are you bullying my baby sister?" Caelen called, grinning over at you from the doorway.

"She joined Overwatch without telling us!" Sylvia wailed again.

You cringed. "That's kind of supposed to be a secret, Syl. Don't go shouting it to the world!"

Caelen's eyes widened and she paused. "What? No way, how the hell did you manage that?! Iris! Come back here! Bri's got some great news!"

You sighed and stood, cradling the wine glass close to your chest. "Well, some great news, and some really bad news…" You waited until all three of them had come out, closing the door behind them, to continue. "While it is good news that I made it into Overwatch, it comes with some bad tidings." And you set to explaining it, the way your interview went down, how you had to go into hiding pretty much because Arachnid had your number now, how Gibson ended up getting involved, and, finally, how you were worried about their safety.

"So, it wasn't a wolf attack?" Sylvia asked, looking as if she needed a wine glass of her own, preferably filled to the brim.

You shook your head. "No, it wasn't. And all this is why I want to move you guys to a safehouse in London."

Iris' gaze had darkened. "No."

Your eyes widened; you had expected resistance from Caelen, but the venom in Iris' voice took you by surprise. "I know it's a big change, but I don't feel comfortable leaving you open in Washington, it's too dangerous. We don't have the resources to have someone guarding you over there either. It's much safer for you in our London safehouse."

Iris scoffed. "What, you think you're so high and mighty now that you're part of Overwatch?"

"Iris," Caelen started, reaching out to rub her sister's arm, but Iris pulled away.

"No, you don't think I can't see what's going on? You've got a cushy new job saving the world from behind a holoscreen, so you think you can control our lives with a snap of your fingers?"

"Iris!" Caelen raised her voice a bit, stepping between you two. "Stop it! While I agree it's a bit presumptuous of her to assume we'd accept this straight off the bat," she said, eyeing you a bit before turning back to her sister, "she's just trying to help us."

"Like she helped Gibson?"

There was a small gasp, from who you didn't know, probably Sylvia, and there was silence between the four of you. It hurt to hear, but it was something you'd been telling yourself so often nowadays that the sting was small, and helped cement it more in your mind.

"Iris-"

"No, she's right," you said, sighing and finishing off the wine. "Gibson's death was my fault, and I have to deal with that knowledge every day. That is a guilt I will always carry on my shoulders, Iris. I don't want the same to happen to you guys, you're my family, just as Gibson was. I'm just trying to make sure you guys don't get hurt because of me either." You stood, brushing off your pants and looked up to the window where Mariam was waving you all inside. "Think it over. I'll be here until the end of the week." You offered a weak smile before you walked past them and slipped back into the warm embrace of the house.

It was hard to fix up a body that had had its throat and stomach torn apart. Hard enough, in fact, that the mortician hadn't even tried with Gibson. That, or he had been told to preserve the body in the state it was brought to him in. Thus, there was no open-casket viewing, no wake to be had. Gibson's coffin was already set up in the Knight's graveyard, ready to be lowered into the grave next to his baby sister, Veronica, who hadn't made it past ten. A horrible accident really, the family hated talking about it.

Shortly after the triplets had arrived and you'd talked with them, it was time to put Gibson to rest. Finally. The cold air nipped bitterly at your cheeks as you stood there, so close to Hanzo if you leaned one centimetre to the right, you'd be pressed against him. Another glass of wine was held in your hands, a prop, an item of comfort. You'd never been much of a wine drinker, but it was what the Knight's had to offer. Mariam had seemed more accepting of you needing a glass or two, "Especially after what you've endured," she'd said, and you just ignored the subtle looks from everyone else.

They hadn't seen the things you had, hadn't been there to hear his last words, to watch him die. If they had, you'd all have glasses of alcohol clutched in your hands and this would be a rather different party.

You watched as they lowered the coffin into the grave, only vaguely realising that you had, in fact, leaned over that one centimetre and had pressed yourself against Hanzo's side, noting how he wrapped an arm around your waist, how you instinctively returned the gesture. You felt numb as you listened to the little speeches everyone was giving, your eyes locked on that dark prison of wood, and, then, the voices went silent. Their eyes were on you, it was your turn.

Clearing your throat, you stood up, peeling yourself from the warmth of your partner's side, though he did not remove his arm. What were you supposed to say? How great of a guy Gibson was? He could be a real shithead when he wanted to, you remembered that time… Shaking your head, you pulled yourself back to the present. You'd figure it out as you went along.

"Gibson was… Was a brave bastard," you said, chuckling a bit to yourself. "It takes a lot to hack into Overwatch and call for help under the watchful eyes of your kidnappers… He had a lot of hope for this world, had so much faith in others, and so, so much love." Your voice caught in your throat and your eyes teared up.

It hit you then. This was real. For those two weeks, for what felt like the longest time, because time really does drag on when you're grieving, you'd lived, convincing yourself this was all just a dream, that Gibson wasn't really dead, that you would still get a vid call in the middle of the night from him excitedly blabbering on about some new tech thing or the other. But here, now, looking down at his coffin, talking about him in the past tense, it hit you.

And it hurt a lot more than you were prepared for.

That was your best friend. That was the man who had helped you start a new life. The first one to show you true, unabated kindness in the five years of your known life. The one who had helped you recover after that awful breakup, who had gotten you to realise what Jeremy was doing to you. The one who helped you move into your new apartment, who helped spur you on when you felt you couldn't go on anymore. The one who had invited you to all those Christmas parties, who made sure that you felt welcome, who made sure you felt loved. He had loved you, you knew that, but look where that love had gotten him.

That brilliantly dorky smile, that hearty laugh, those stupid fucking jokes he always made. Gone. You'd never hear him fanboy over Angela again, or hear him pester you about upgrading your laptop, or see that doofy face of his appear on the screen again.

He was gone.

"He… he, um," you choked on your words, wiping at your eyes as your chest locked up. You were trembling, you noted, it was hard to stand. "He was my best friend… the best friend anyone could ask for and," you let out a shuddering breath, trying hard not to break, not now, not here. But you couldn't hold it back anymore.

You turned teary eyes up to the people gathered around the grave, met their gazes, felt their grief as well. This was your fault. You had caused this. This death, this weight, this grief was on your hands. Your friend was gone.

"I, um, I'm sorry, I-I can't," you muttered, disentangling yourself from Hanzo and turning away to walk briskly back to the house, still clutching that cup of wine. 'Get to the house, get to the house now, don't let them see you, don't let them hear it, just get to the house.' A sob wrangled its way out as you stumbled, but you kept going, a hand covering your mouth. You were aware of the footsteps following, crunching the grass harshly behind you, but you didn't care. 'Get to the house, get to the house, get to the house.'

But you never made it to the house. You stumbled again, collapsing to your knees in the grass as another sob spilled out, followed by a wail. You couldn't see through your tears, didn't want to anyway, so the only way you knew who came up behind you and scooped you into their arms was by the familiar scent that washed over you.

You pushed at Hanzo's chest, afraid of getting your makeup smeared all over that nice white shirt and his suit, but he was insistent, and you eventually gave in, letting him hold you there. There were no words spoken between you two, because there were no words to be said. You were grieving, and he understood that. He just held you there, hand gently rubbing your back, arms wrapped around you, letting you wail into his chest until you had tired yourself out.

When your cries had quieted into whimpers, he pulled away just enough to look down at you. "Let's get you inside, Hachi," he murmured, slowly moving to stand and pulling you up with him. "I'm sure it's a lot warmer there."

You nodded weakly, leaning against him as you walked, sniffling. Your wineglass lay forgotten and spilled into the grass behind you.

He had taken her to the room he was staying in, a nice quiet place away from everyone else where she could come down in peace. On the way there, he'd asked one of the staff if they could bring some water and mulled wine up to the room. He knew how horrible moments like this could get, he knew she was far overdue for another one. She'd held on so long, fought so hard against the truth, and he'd known it would just be a matter of time before those glass walls she had put up would shatter under the weight of the tears she stored behind them. She was going to need the wine eventually.

He sat her down on the bed and left her for just a second to neatly hang his suit jacket on the coat rack by the door. When he came back over, rolling his sleeves up as he walked, he could see the tears pooling in her eyes again and he sighed.

She hiccuped and looked up at him, giving him the most pitiful look he'd seen on her yet. The wobble in her lips gave way to a weak laugh heavy with sorrow as she sniffled and wiped at her eyes, looking away. "I'm sorry," she whispered, folding her hands tightly in her lap. "I've just been a burden lately… haven't I?"

"No, Hachi, you've been nothing of the sort," he said softly, reaching out to tuck a few strands of hair behind her ear. She looked so much smaller sitting there on the queen-sized bed, her shoulders drawn in, her head lowered. So much smaller than usual. "Can you wait a few moments while I get a damp washcloth? We should get that makeup off, it'll make you feel better, I promise."

She nodded, her touch light and hesitant as she reached up and brushed her fingers against his, leaning into his palm a bit before she pulled away, wiping at her eyes again. The gesture was quick, subtle, but it was there and it made him smile.

He did as he said, slipping into the bathroom to wet a washcloth, getting just a little bit of soap on one side, and came back to find she hadn't moved an inch. Crouching down, he gently gripped her chin to make her face him. "Close your eyes," he murmured. He took his time with it, gently rubbing at stubborn spots of makeup, letting her feel the warm cloth against her skin.

She let out a soft sigh, obviously enjoying the touch, and visibly relaxed where she sat, leaning into the weight of his hand against her face and his fingers on her shoulder. When he pulled the washcloth away, she opened her eyes to meet his gaze for a brief second before looking down at the tie in her fingers. She frowned. "Oh, Hanzo, I- my makeup…"

"There will be other ties, Hachi," he assured her, spotting a small smudge of makeup he'd missed. He reached up to wipe it away, and she met his eyes. There was so much emotion in that honeyed gaze of hers, so much grief, so much fear, there was so much going on in her mind it was no wonder she was having such a hard time. This was, of course, her first experience with this kind of grief, he realised. He'd almost forgotten how little she'd actually experienced in this life. In terms of experience, she was a child compared to him.

She searched his gaze thoroughly, as if she might find some answers there if she looked hard enough. Her fingertips brushed against his cheek, almost as if she was mimicking his gestures, and he expected her to drop her hand rather quickly, but it stayed, thumb tracing his cheekbone, the rest of her fingers at the edge of his facial hair. "Jesse is right. You really are too pretty sometimes," she said quietly, listing her head to the side.

He chuckled, shaking his head and reaching up to slip his fingers between hers, loosely, so as not to startle her, and held her hand there. He knew what kind of general state she was in, now he just had to figure out if it was volatile or not. "You've been spending far too much time with him lately, Hachi. Jesse can be a bad influence."

She smiled at that, a weak smile, but a smile nonetheless. Her fingers tightened around his and she leaned forward a bit, closing most of the distance between them. There was a tension in her eyes, a look that he recognised, but couldn't oblige. Not yet. "No, I think he's just the right kind of influence."

"Only you could say that," he said, standing slowly and slipping his hand from hers. He heard the footsteps out in the hall before they reached the door, only one pair, so he figured it was the staff he'd asked to bring the drinks. He didn't even wait for them to knock before he called for them to come in.

There was a pause, no doubt the staff had been surprised at this, before the door swung open carefully and the staff came in with a pitcher of water, a few glasses, and a large thermos of what Hanzo suspected to be the wine all sitting neatly on a tray.

"Thank you," he said, nodding to the table where the man could set the tray. "If you would please give Mrs. Knight our condolences. There is a chance we might not make it down for dinner."

The man paused. "Would you like us to arrange for the meal to be brought up here?"

Hanzo looked down at Briallen, gauging her emotional state before he nodded. "If we are not there within half an hour of the start, yes. But, please, do make sure you keep a place for us in case we do."

The staff nodded, giving a little bow before exiting the room, leaving the two to their quiet space again.

"I can see it," she said, watching as Hanzo crossed to the tray and began pouring a glass of water for her.

"See what?" he asked, coming back over with the cup.

"You being the heir of some big mafia what-have-you. You have the right kind of air for it."

He cringed a bit, but still managed a smile. "Well, whether I have the right kind of air for it or not, that big mafia what-have-I is in my past. Here, drink," he said, holding the glass out to her.

She frowned, shaking her head. "I would rather have the wine."

"Water first, Hachi. You lost a lot of it from the crying. One glass is all I ask, then you can have all the wine you want, alright?"

She fit perfectly against his side, slotted in almost like a puzzle piece. They had long since finished the thermos of wine, most of it having disappeared into her, and it was clear they would not be making tonight's dinner. She had missed most of the party, but, perhaps that wasn't such a bad thing. He knew her type, had people watched long enough to notice the signs of a wallflower when he saw one. But maybe she was a bit more, more inclined to dance, less inclined to mingle. In short, she would not have been happy with the party, not with people she didn't know, not in her current state. So, they had stayed upstairs, absently watching something on the holovid, some drama or another, in each other's company.

'I'm going soft,' he thought, glancing down at the girl currently curled up against his side, tucked under his arm. She had her sweater sleeves pulled up to her fingers and a hand held up to her mouth in a self-soothing gesture. Her eyes were drooping, either from the wine or the exhaustion emotions tended to induce, and it was only a matter of time before she dropped off beside him.

He didn't mind, though; he was finding himself inordinately fond of her. He was going soft for her, for her smiles, for her laughter, for her touch. Perhaps he wasn't, as Jesse had put it, "melting just at the sound of her voice", but he definitely was going soft.

"Do you want me to take you to your room?" he asked softly, gently rubbing his thumb against her arm, rousing her a bit.

"Hmm? Oh… no. It's fine," she murmured, shifting a bit to press herself more comfortably against his side, her eyelids slowly beginning to shut again.

He chuckled, looking down at her with a small grin. "Are you sure? There might be talk tomorrow," he teased.

"Let them talk. See if I care," she grumbled, closing her eyes.

A soft laugh rolled through him and he wrapped his arm tighter around her. "Oyasumi, Hachi."

She frowned and shot a hand up, smooshing it against his mouth. "Shh, no talk. Sleep now."