Everett had picked her up at the airport, her smile genuine but brittle. Marigold had handed her a business card with a New York phone number scrawled across the back, with a few random words beneath it, refusing to explain before slipping into the passenger seat. Something was up. As they left the highway behind in favour of the long, winding forest road, the radio began to crackle with static, then died. Everett, laughed. It was an uncomfortable sound. "We have a few secure lines, but we don't have reception. Not really."

"It's fine. I'd heard rumors about an older facility out here. I'm surprised the training school doesn't see more use..?"

Everett grimaced reflexively. "Doctor Marcus is a brilliant man, and the company puts a lot of priority on his work. He's always been mercurial. He worked well with a few junior researchers before Spencer recalled the training program. You'll meet them when we arrive."

Marigold was about to scoff at the thought of Marcus working well with anyone, but then...Bailey had been a close associate of his. Bailey, from the little she'd seen of the man, had been mild-mannered, although completely single-minded in his fascination with the virus. the two men had balanced each other, Marigold thought. She reconsidered her next words. "There *was* an assistant back in the day. While he's always been rather odious, I supposed I shouldn't be surprised he'd take others on. I just don't know what would possess anyone to think he'd want to *teach*."

Everett laughed, and the tension seemed to drain out of her, just a bit.

Marigold frowned. "Are you alright dear? I hope I didn't cause much trouble last time I was here." Spencer had been planning to close the training facility, that very year she had visited, in fact. He'd delighted in the reports the executive committee sent him regarding her eventful visit, even calling her home to thank her for making the transition so much easier to swallow for the regional staff.

"You might have just asked," she'd chided him. He's laughed at that, a dry and deeply amused sound. "Oh, you know how he is. I gave him the opportunity to branch out a bit, but James is, well, James. If I'd said something it would be a vote of no-confidence all around. No, you did splendidly." He'd paused then. "I know you two had some difficulty getting on, back in the day, dear. I do hope it wasn't hard on you to set things right." That was three years ago, and every word she'd had with the man had been playing back through her head during that long, winding drive.

Next to her, Everett sighed. "It's fine, but...well, one of our researchers had a difficult time when your niece was announced as the head researcher in the Antarctic facility. If Doctor Birkin is a bit moody at you, it isn't personal." At Marigold's confusion, Everrett barked a short laugh. "She beat his record, you see."

"Of what, youngest...oh, no," Marigold groaned. "Seriously?!"

"By five years," Everett confirmed. She had one of the best poker faces around, but her eyes were dancing with repressed amusement. "He and Dr. Wesker were at the training facility before it was shuttered. They're senior researchers here, now."

"Marigold covered her face with ere hands, groaning dramatically. "Heaven save me from hormonal prodigies," she declared. "I thought I'd gotten past this once my brother was settled, but it seems to be a trend." Then, "Any relation to Dr. Wesker out of the Paris facility? Older gentleman, clean-cut, a bit severe-looking?"

Everett shrugged. "Probably a coincidence, honestly."

Probably.

Marigold glanced up at the horizon, seeing the mountains and the midday sun in the distance, through her passenger window. North and east, she thought. Raccoon City is about five miles south of here. Paranoia settled back into her bones. Everett, already on edge for reasons she couldn't discern, shivered, gripped the wheel tightly, and carried them further into the forest.


For a mansion in the middle of nowhere, the place seemed to be positively bustling. All-terrain vehicles were lined along the far end of what might charitably be called a parking lot. Marigold got out of the car slowly, staring at the building. She'd never been to the Antarctic facility, but she'd seen photos. She'd wondered why a regency-style manor was used as the design for that climate. It seemed that Spencer had had the plans sitting handy, and hadn't seen the harm in sharing.

Ms. Everett mistook her expression. "Mr. Spencer had it commissioned in the late sixties - I believe it was completed about shortly before Umbrella was launched as a company. I'm surprised you've never been here." She exited the car, waiting for Marigold to begin moving again.

"I as well," Marigold mused, still staring. Something about the style of it pulled at her mind.

Nevermind, she thought. Get in, find out what you can, and get out.


She heard them before she saw them. A young man's voice, slightly nasal, rang out from down the hall. "But why does she have to come all the way down here? This facility never had any extra oversight before-"

"Doctor Marcus isn't in charge anymore," Another voice cut him off. "They kept him pinned where he was for a reason. It stands to reason that they'll organize things differently here at some point. The project's getting too large not to." This one's voice was deeper, with that odd American accent she tended to think of as "Mid-Atlantic Ivy". Something about the way the other man was pitching his voice..ah, at least one of them was trying to be careful. Looking at Everett's sudden panicked expression, she gave a little smile and barrelled forward. Practice made her stilleto heels hit the polished floors like small, ringing gunshots.

Once she would have allowed the charade to stand, stepping onto unfamiliar territory and behaving ever the gracious guest. Never again. So much as it felt safer to, it was best to let people see who they were dealing with, and get it out of the way.

Well, to a point.

The voices ahead - it looked like a lounge - went silent, and two young men rose awkwardly to greet them. The smaller of the two blanched at the sight of her. Marigold smiled warmly at him, zeroing in for a handshake, which he gave out of reflexive confusion. "Doctors! Birkin, and Wesker, I believe? I do apologize for pulling you from your work. I requested specifically to meet the two of you," She glanced up at the other researcher. This one was tall - the three-inch heels put her just shy of eye level with him- and well-built in a lean sort of way. His face was neutral, assessing. Marigold held her momentum. "Honestly, after spending a year with that man. I could barely ever stomach ten minutes. I'd be trying to buy you a beer if I weren't on the clock." She glanced at Everett, who was gaping openly behind her. "That's the expression, yes?"

Everett stuttered out, "I-I believe so, miss."

"American idioms are so odd. Hmm." She released Birkin's hand, who actually scampered back a step from the force of her personality. She let it hang there a moment, bereft hand in a little white glove. These little tours were always a mixture of momentum and lobbing charm at the researchers, many of whom were unequipped to handle that sort of attention. Birkin alone, with his youth, genius, and simmering resentment of a young girl she resembled, might have been a pushover had he been on his own.

The other man cleared his throat and offered his hand. "Miss Ashford." He inclined his head towards one of the lounge chairs. She took the hand, gave a perfunctory little shake, allowed herself to be led deeper into the room to sit.

Coffee was distributed to the three of them. Marigold regarded hers with a bemused nostalgia before taking a sip.

Giving a small nod to Ms. Everett - yes, I'll be good - she settled into the chair and fixed the two men with a long look. After a moment, she sighed, satisfied. "I'll be frank; the way the company has been acquiring talent over the last few years has been...unconventional, shall we say?" She allowed herself to grimaced, while the two men exchanged glances. "Normally, solid research teams are built over years, guided by competent advisors." She eyed Birkin warily. He seemed to be reddening. "Did anyone else at the training facility manage the day-to-day? I have notes, but I also have a great deal of missing information.

It would have been very easy to miss Wesker nudging Birkin's foot from her seat. As a grounding technique, it seemed effective enough. Wesker smoothly took point on the conversation. "There was an operations manager, but most stayed out of his way. These days, we have a reasonably flat structure. Birkin's plan going forward is quite ambitious, so no one can be relegated to assistant unless they're in the rare position to be idle." He turned to Birkin, who was practically glowing with pride.

Everett, a survivor herself in dozens of smaller ways, suddenly knew that she would be better off being anywhere else in that moment. "Miss Ashford, I'm going to check in with the head office at the lobby. Is it alright if I catch up with you later in the tour?"

Marigold nodded, and the other woman disappeared back in the direction she came. She pulled a sheaf of papers from her bag. "I have here a few of the company's regional laboratories around the continental United States. These three- " She cut the top third of the sheaf like a deck of cards to set Chicago, New York, and Atlanta, " - are experiencing a lot of growth due to federal cuts. Good for the company, but they need some time to onboard before they're suitable. If you're in a stable position with your team, I would suggest that one of you hits the conference circuit to feel some of them out. The others on my list are also stable, but for the medium term, I'd focus on those three. Perhaps next fall?"

Birkin stared at her, looking for the lie. Finally, he admitted, "I've scoped my research for a few years, but the process would run better with a few different teams." Back to glaring. "You're being very helpful while your niece is being feted in New York."

Wesker was pointedly abstaining from distracting the little beagle of a man. Why did this feel so familiar? Cooly, she replied. "My niece is ten. Such an appearance makes for good headlines and gets the Antarctic lab a bit of prestige. She's also in for a rough few years in trying to earn her reputation. That lab is hardly the arboreal getaway yours seems to be. For one, we had the luxury of driving here, as opposed to getting dropped into the middle of the South Pacific."

"And?"

"And you aren't competing for the same sort of people. This lab is a much easier sell to bring in a much stronger team. They can chase their own white whales out there without disrupting yours, surely."

"That's not the concern," Wesker said quietly. "She emerges from nowhere, suddenly a doctor of virology. And she seems to..." he trailed off, uncertain of how to finish that sentence.

Oh.

Oh dear. "And once again, you see two factions fighting over Sonnetroppe, don't you."

A pregnant pause.

"How?" Birkin yelped.

"Again?" Wesker asked at the same time. Ah, damn.

Externally, she waited, arcing a brow at their collective outburst before continuing in a saccharine tone. "Well, goodness, you mean you aren't in the top-secret facility studying the thing Spencer cares about so much that he made it the logo?" She took care not to invoke her father. The connection was well-known, but...these two were suspicious as it was. Best not to drive speculation beyond what was necessary.

Privately, she thought their fears of being scooped could be valid. Birkin was a genius, but Alexia...she'd already gone far beyond her father, between her grandfather's notes and her own father's blueprint of a viable genome. A few more years. She wouldn't need a staff to plumb the secrets of the virus.

What she might do, beyond that point? Anyone's guess. These two wouldn't know the extent of the situation, of course. Birkin cared about getting scooped, not her niece breaking open the world.

He likely had a few ideas on that point, all of his own.

Wesker stood, startling her. Suddenly the shapeless dress, the glasses - all the little bits of distracting flare - felt like cheap costume jewelry as he fixed her with a hard look.

"You only answer to Spencer, yes? If he sent you here, then it's likely in response to the last report we sent. Once again, the offered hand. "Would you accompany us? We can set up in the main conference room."

Run, she thought. "You've cracked it?" She asked instead in a cool, dubious tone, shooting a glance at Birkin. He looked concerned but didn't argue.

Run.

But...this is what she came for. All of this risk. Just a little more, now.

She took the hand.