AN: I'm sorry that this is so late. My health has not been good recently and it has been a battle to write. I'm going to make a real effort to update every two weeks, if not sooner. Thank you SO VERY much for all the kind words. I'm really striving to give you all my best. It means the world to me to hear you're enjoying. Also, please note that I am not specialized in mental health, so all references are NOT meant to be a standard or to reflect negatively on any one illness. They are only for story purposes and absolutely no offense is meant. Hope you all enjoy this update. Thanks! Ashleigh

The living room was engulfed in darkness save for the gray light cast through the panes and onto Rose's curled up figure. It had been hours since she had awakened from a fitful sleep and had made her way to the sofa.

Typically, sleep was not something that easily evaded her; but that night, Rose's slumber had been assaulted by repeated images of Ian's face contorted in pain and hands soaked in scarlet, struggling to save the faceless figure of his father. The images were not well-defined, but their impressions were incredibly clear. She felt more than she saw, and it completely devoured her, strangling the air out of her lungs. The effect on her mind and body finally became so intense that it tore her away from her tumultuous slumber. Rose jolted upright in tandem with the crack of lightening outside, her body trembling and breathing ragged. Knowing she'd be unable to get a solid night's rest, and not even caring by that point, Rose scooted out of bed and walked out towards the main part of the flat, grabbing her well-worn hoodie and pulling it over her head as she left her bedroom.

Plodding through the hallway and into the chilly kitchen, Rose put on the kettle and leaned her back against the counter as she waited for it to boil. Faint images from her horrid dreams attempted to resurface and she wiped her tired eyes. Within a couple minutes, the kettle began to whistle and Rose went about making herself a steaming, and hopefully calming, cup of tea. Sluggishly, she walked across the cold carpet and made herself comfortable on the sofa, pulling her knees close to her chest. Silently she remained seated there through the early morning hours, sipping on her tea and staring at the storm raging outside the window.

Time passed and the storm began to wane, reducing the previous downpour to a persistent drizzle. The sun attempted to breach the skies but they held fast to their grey nature. Martha finally rolled out of bed and trudged towards the living room, fully intending to spend the day vegetating in front of the telly and getting takeaway. For the first time in months, she had nowhere to be and nothing expected of her; Martha deserved a day of mind numbing reality shows and boxes of curry. As she entered the living room, Martha saw Rose sitting stoically on the sofa, her knees pulled taut to her chest and resting her chin upon them. Martha couldn't help but frown in worry and confusion when she saw Rose. For one, it was before eleven on a Sunday; and two, she was just sitting there without as much as a lamp or the telly on to brighten the room. Without another thought, she flipped the light switch, causing Rose to whirl her head around and attempt to glare through squinted eyes.

"Oi! What's with the light?"

"You were sittin' in the dark like some sorta vampire, but seeing as ya didn't go poof when the light went on, it's safe to say we can rule that out."

Rose gave a weak eye roll. "Clever."

"I try," Martha replied with a grin before heading towards the kitchen to make a pot of coffee.

"Light off, please," Rose called after her.

"Nope!" Martha yelled back. "Time to join the land of the living."

She could hear Rose grumbling in the background, but paid her no heed and went about finishing the coffee, preparing a cup for both of them. As she walked back into the room, she saw Rose leaning over the back of the sofa, her arm extended, and trying to flip the light switch with the remote.

"What are you doin'?"

Startled by Martha's sudden voice, Rose jumped and the remote fell out of her hand and onto the ground.

"I's tryin' to shut off the light," she answered, as if it had completely obvious.

Martha cocked an eyebrow. "Ya coulda just walked over and flipped it. It's like, what…ten steps?"

"I didn't wanna get up," Rose shrugged, adjusting her position on the couch and reaching out for one of the cups in Martha's hands.

Snorting and giving an exasperated eye roll, Martha handed a mug to Rose before stooping, picking up the remote, and plopping down next to her on the sofa. She turned on the telly and began searching through the channels, not really looking for anything in particular. As she brought the hot liquid to her lips, Martha caught a glimpse of Rose out of her periphery. There was definitely something odd with her. It wasn't just that she was up early; it was also the fact that she was just sitting there, her eyes far away, and cuddling her mug as if she was trying to warm her whole body.

"Rose?"

Martha's beckoning went unnoticed.

"Hey," she tried again, nudging Rose with her foot.

Finally Rose looked over at her. Even though she was looking directly at Martha, Rose's eyes still showed she wasn't completely present. "What?"

"What's wrong? You're hardly ever up this early on Sundays."

"'S nothin'," Rose answered, shrugging her shoulders. "Just couldn't sleep."

"That's not like you," Martha said after taking a sip.

Rose rubbed at her tired eyes again. "Well, I had a nightmare."

"That's really not like you," Martha said, furrowing her brow. "What was it about?"

Taking a long sip from her mug, Rose quickly thought over what answer to give. Even though the account was public knowledge, she felt that relating it would somehow betray Ian. Sound logic, no; but till she knew more, Rose was sticking with her gut feeling.

"Eh, was all sorta fuzzy…," she replied as she waved her hand about. "But I really don't feel like talking 'bout it."

"Fair enough." Martha switched the television over to Netflix and began searching through their queue before selecting Say Yes to the Dress.

That immediately caught Rose's attention, and she began to shake her head. "Oh, no. No, no, no. I'm not watchin' this. I'm way too tired to watch vapid cows natter on 'bout th-…"

"Well you don't have to watch it, but I am."

"Since when do you get to decide what we both watch?"

Martha turned and looked at Rose, arching an eyebrow in defiance. "Since this is my first free day in over two months. So the only time I'm leaving this sofa is to get food and go to the loo."

Rolling her eyes, Rose leaned over and attempted to take the remote. "C'mon… Just pick somethin' we both wanna watch."

"Back off, Blondie. This is my day and I'm spending it how I want! Which means watchin' rubbish telly and stuffin' my face," Martha hollered as she twisted back and forth, attempting to balance her coffee and still keep the remote away from Rose's clutches. "Let it go!"

The tug of war continued about a minute longer before Martha finally yanked the remote away and hid it underneath her bum.

"Ha!" Martha cried in childish triumph. "Now ya can either play nice and join me, or go away and amuse y'self someplace else. Your choice."

Huffing, Rose shuffled off the sofa and walked towards her room, flicking Martha on the forehead as she passed her.

"Oi!"

Rose said nothing discernable in reply, merely scowling and grumbling under her breath. Grabbing her mobile off her nightstand, Rose unlocked it and scrolled to her selection. A few rings later, the line was picked up.

"Hello?"

"Hey, 's me. You working?"

"For a lil while. At least three more hours. Why? Y'alright?"

"I'm comin' round. Be there in twenty."

"Okay. See ya in a bit."

Donna lowered her mobile from her ear and pocketed it, furrowing her brow slightly. It hadn't escaped her notice that Rose had sidestepped her question. Donna hadn't been able to pick up on anything in particular, but there was this niggling sensation in the back of her mind that told her something was off. Call it intuition, call it brilliance, but it was a trait that over a decade of friendship had proven reliable.

Sunday's lunch hour was often steady, but thanks to the weather that morning, patrons were fewer than norm. Donna found herself grateful for the slower pace. She was only there to take inventory and make a few minor inspections, and she didn't feel like manning any lunch hour madness. In truth, Donna was exhausted and didn't even want to be there at all, but ever since her assistant up and quit two weeks prior, she'd been forced to juggle everything singlehandedly.

Her head was halfway in the freezer when she heard the kitchen door slam against the wall. Startled, Donna stepped back and whirled around towards the offending noise, her eyes blazing. However, the anger boiling within her began to cool as she took in the odd spectacle before her. Lynda Moss was standing there in her usual uniform of black trousers and white button down, except there was now a hideous, oversized plaid beanie atop her head. Her eyes were red and blazing, jaw was locked, and her nose was red and stuffy. Clearly she was not only furious, but also had been crying.

Normally Donna would have torn into whoever was being so thoughtless and causing such a ruckus, but this was Lynda—one of the sweetest and bubbliest individuals in existence. Whatever had happened to cause such a change in character must have been quite serious, so Donna bit back her reproof.

"What is wrong? And what on Earth is on your head?"

At the mention of "head," Lynda's eyes flashed and immediately glistened with tears. "A pipe busted in my building, so I crashed at my mate Rebecca's flat."

"'Kay…," Donna replied slowly, "Still doesn't explain the horrid beanie."

"Rebecca's got two little girls."

Donna blinked rapidly, her frustration growing with each "non-answer."

"Who like to play hairdresser...while you sleep."

Dreadful understanding dawned on her, and Donna's eyes widened. "Oh no…"

Lynda yanked off the beanie to reveal her hair. What had once been shoulder length and wavy, was now in two small pigtails on the top of her head. By the way her pigtails stuck up, the locks were clearly cut jaggedly.

Donna threw her hand over her mouth, trying to stifle both her horror and her laughter. She knew she shouldn't find Lynda's misfortune funny, but she just couldn't help it. Though she was definitely angry, Lynda's new "haircut" made her seem like a pouting child, and Donna couldn't suppress her amusement any longer and a snort escaped her.

Lynda glared at her boss, but the fire quickly faded and her eyes became glassy. She buried her face in her beanie, her shoulders slightly shaking with silent sobs. Donna instantly felt remorse and she rushed over to Lynda, wrapping her arms around her and stroking her back comfortingly.

"I'm sorry, sweetie. It's not funny. It's…," Donna bit her lip to contain her chuckling, "It's not funny."

"I look like some overgrown jacked up Barbie doll," Lynda sobbed.

"No you don't."

Lynda pulled back and looked up at Donna, her eyes hopeful. "Really?"

"Well…maybe just a bit," Donna admitted, causing Lynda to bury her head back into Donna's shoulder. "But it's fixable. It's not the end of the world. And it'll grow back."

"I hate those demon spawn," Lynda mumbled.

Donna laughed outright at that. "That's the harshest thing I've ever heard ya say."

Lynda pulled back and wiped at her face, sniffing as she did so. "Oh.. I didn't really mean it. They're actually very sweet girls. They said they just wanted to make me look special for work. They honestly didn't mean to butcher my hair."

"Well, like I said, it'll grow back. For now, ya can wear that thing till ya get it fixed."

Sniffing again, Lynda finally gave a small smile and tugged the beanie over her head. "M'kay. I think I'm good now. At least for a bit. Can't guarantee that I won't lock myself in the loo and sob a few times, but for right now, I'm alright."

"Good," Donna said with a smile. "Now get out there and get to work."

Lynda giggled, but continued to stand there.

Donna frowned slightly. "No, seriously, get out there. It's the lunch hour and there's only one hostess."

"Oh, right," Lynda said and scurried out to the front, leaving Donna chuckling behind her.

Jack Harkness stepped through the doors to Rendezvous, and shook the raindrops from his coat before running a hand through his dark wet locks. Looking around, he took in the quaint surroundings and was immediately impressed with what he saw—the dark rounded tables, soft lighting, brass ceilings, and overall inviting atmosphere. He also took that moment to search for the reason for his visit, Rose; but she was nowhere in sight. There were several diners, a few servers, and a young woman wearing a ridiculous beanie. Jack couldn't help the soft chuckle that escaped him as took in her appearance.

Knowing it was a long shot, Jack approached the young hostess, flashing a brilliant smile which she readily returned.

"Hey there. I was looking for someone. Her name's Rose Tyler."

Her smile instantly froze at the mention of Rose, something which puzzled Jack.

"Uh… I don't think she's here. Well, that's to say…uh, can I ask who ya are?" she fumbled nervously, remembering the last time an unknown man came into the restaurant looking for Rose.

"Jack Harkness," he answered, extending his hand and widening his smile in an effort to put her at ease.

It seemed to work and she shook his hand, the worry lines in her forehead softening. "Lynda. I didn't see her when I came in, but it's quite possible she came in after I got here."

"Do you mind checking for me? I'd really appreciate it," Jack asked with just enough charm to make Lynda blush shyly.

"Um, yeah, sure. Just, uh…just give me a mo'."

Jack winked at her. "Thanks, Lynda."

Her blush deepening, she quickly turned and rushed towards the kitchen. Jack stuck his hands in his pockets and continued to look around as he waited for Lynda to return. It couldn't have been more than two minutes before he heard firm, hurried footsteps approaching him. Jack turned and instead of seeing the smiling Lynda or even Rose, he found himself face to face with a fierce redhead. It came as a surprise to him that he found himself immediately taken with the woman, even though her eyes were blazing in his direction.

"Hi," Jack squeaked before clearing his throat, "I-…"

"What do ya want?" she demanded, getting to heart of the matter.

Jack was taken aback by her brusque manner, but remained composed. "I'm looking for Rose Tyler."

She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. "Yeah, got that," she countered curtly. "I wanna know why."

"I just wanted to speak with her for a minute."

The woman's tone remained steely, and her gaze narrowed. "Why?"

Judging by her stance and demeanor, this woman was clearly a force to be reckoned with, but Jack refused to yield. What he wanted to say was for Rose, and Rose alone.

"I can tell that you're obviously close to Rose, or else you wouldn't be standing here, ready to tear into me. But frankly, it's not any of your business," he replied, his tone both equal parts kind and firm.

She raised an eyebrow defiantly at him. "Oh really?"

"Yeah, really. I can appreciate that you're playing watchdog, so let me assure you, I'm here purely out of good motive."

She seemed to seriously ponder his statement, giving his person a once over. Jack couldn't help but grin at her examination, even if it wasn't meant to be flirty in the slightest, and he boldly returned the gesture in kind. The faintest shade of pink graced her cheeks as she noticed his appraisal, and she cleared her throat.

"Well, she's not here. But she will be shortly. So ya can wait over there," she pointed to a free table in the far back, "and I'll let her know you're here when she shows up."

"Thanks," Jack said sincerely.

The redhead merely nodded in reply and turned on her heel to leave.

"I don't even get a name?"

She turned around, her eyebrow arched. "Why do want one?"

"It'd be nice to put a name to the pretty face."

Her eyebrow remained arched as she pursed her lips. "Donna."

Jack's grin grew brilliant at her answer. "Nice to meet you, Donna. I'm Jack."

The tiniest of smiles tugged at the corners of her lips before she wordlessly turned around and walked back to the kitchen.

Allowing another minute to grin after her, Jack finally walked over to the aforementioned table to wait for Rose's arrival.

Roughly ten minutes later, Rose came into the dining room and walked over to Jack. At seeing her, he stood and offered her a hug which she reciprocated happily. When they pulled apart, Jack could see that she was surprised and confused at seeing him. He motioned to one of the chairs and they both took a seat.

"It's always good to see ya, Jack; but I gotta be honest, I'm sorta at a loss as to what you're doin' here. How'd ya even think to look for me here?"

"I tried calling the bakery, but it was closed. Then I remembered that every time you make a delivery, you always leave a flyer for this place. Just this one, never anyplace else. I figured there must be a reason for it."

Rose smiled and cocked an eyebrow. "Wow. Impressive job at connecting the dots."

"It's what I do," he quipped, chuckling with Rose. His face then became serious as he looked up at her. "I wanted to thank you for what you did for my aunt."

"I really didn't do anythin', Jack," Rose answered, furrowing her brow. "I just gave her a lift so she wouldn't get rained on. You really didn't have to come all the way down here to thank me for that."

"No," he shook his head, "not that. I mean, I do 'preciate that, but I was referring to how you treated her. Yesterday was… it was rough day, and you were kind to her. Tried to draw her out. Listened to her. It seemed to help lift her spirits, and for that I want to say thank you."

Memories of Sarah Jane's pained expression and the horrid account of Thomas' murder hit Rose full force, and she swallowed the painful lump in her throat.

"It really wasn't much."

"It may not seem like a lot, but trust me, to us it was."

A beat passed before Rose spoke up, unable to hold back her knowledge anymore. "I'm so sorry for what happened to your dad. I can't even begin to understand what you all went through… 'specially Cillian. I ju-…"

At the mention of his brother, especially her use of 'Cillian,' Jack's head jerked back and his eyes widened. "How… How do ya know about that? About my brother?"

Rose's hand shook as she tucked her hair behind her ear. "I… I met 'im 'bout a week ago. And yesterday, Sarah Jane mentioned that it was just you, her, and Ian. I… I didn't… I wanted to know if it was the same Ian I knew. I did some digging and found out… well, I read 'bout what happened."

For a moment, Jack silently stared at her. Unsure of how to interpret his silence, Rose hastily spoke again. "'M sorry if ya feel like I stuck my nose where it didn't belong. It's just when I thought it could be my Ian, I went a bit spare and needed to find out."

Jack's eyebrows met his hairline as he noted Rose's possessive connotation in regards to his brother. "It's public knowledge, Rose. There's no reason to apologize for finding out something everybody has access to. That's just nonsense."

Rose nodded and smiled in relief.

"What I'm actually more surprised about is the fact you know my brother. Ian's not… well, he's not really a sociable person. Least not anymore."

"If it helps, he was a complete wanker the first couple times I met 'im."

"So you've spent actual time with him? More than once?" Jack pursued further. He was very interested in knowing what kind of person Ian was around Rose, and the exact nature of their relationship.

"Uh, yeah… five ti-… I mean a few times," Rose stumbled and turned her head, blushing at the fact she knew the exact number.

Jack grinned at her flustering and the blush that colored her cheeks. He was quickly surmising that Rose had a thing for his brother.

"So… would you call these dates?"

Her head jerked up at Jack's question. "Wha'? No… No, not dates."

"So what were they?" Jack chuckled.

Rose's blush intensified and she worried her bottom lip. She studied him for a moment, trying to gauge his motive for asking. On seeing that he was genuinely interested and not just having a laugh, Rose took a breath and regaled him with the details of their interactions. Of course, she left out a few details, such as their moment of attraction in the lift and their last parting. As they talked, Rose could see that even during periods of laughter, Jack's eyes held a trace of forlornness.

"D-Does…," he cleared his throat, "Does he seem happy?"

The question took Rose by surprise, though not as much as it should have. "I don't know. The last few times we were together, he seemed more at ease. But… but I could still see there's somethin' weighing on 'im. It's in his eyes… He's…it's like he's in pain."

Jack's forehead creased and he nodded his head. Reaching her hand across the table, Rose squeezed his hand and smiled softly at him. "Can I ask ya something?"

Slight hesitation passed over Jack's eyes, but he nodded his head. "Sure."

"You two aren't close anymore, are you?"

"No, we're not," Jack said softly, clearly troubled by the acknowledgement.

"Why?"

Leaning back in his chair, Jack sighed wearily. "Honestly, I'm not sure. We used to be incredibly close. When we were kids, we were practically inseparable. Got into all kinds of trouble. But after our father died, things just… changed. He wasn't the same. I tried, Sarah Jane tried, but we couldn't get through to him."

Rose felt a lump of restrained emotion in her throat and she swallowed harshly. Composing herself, she pressed on. "What happened to the man that shot your dad?"

Jack instantly tensed and his jaw locked. "Jail. Not the outcome I wanted, but at least Harry's no longer plaguing society. I never thought that he'd do something so…so heinous, especially to our family. Not after everything we did for him."

Rose's eyes widened and her jaw slacked in shock. "Y-you knew him? This 'Harry'? Ya actually had some sorta connection with 'im?"

"Unfortunately, yes. He roomed with Ian while they were at university. Harry was always a bit narcissistic. Definitely a smooth talker. I was never his biggest fan, but for some reason, Ian befriended him. Harry had it rough growing up, so Ian was always looking out for him. After they graduated, they didn't really stay close. Ian and me got hired on at a firm together and Harry, he joined some PR firm. Don't remember which one. Anyway, Harry came under investigation regarding some information that was being leaked out about several of his more influential clients. Pretty sensitive stuff. So, he played on Ian's sense of loyalty and he agreed to represent Harry. I didn't like the idea of Ian not having backup when it came to that jerk, so I joined the defense.

But the further the investigation went, the more we learned about Harry. He'd had some issues during school. I chalked it up to behavior or personality quirks. But then his fiancé, Lucy, came forward about how bad off he was. They weren't just quirks; he was genuinely disturbed. She said he was becoming increasingly abusive and paranoid. Harry was evasive whenever we tried to push the subject, even hostile at times. We searched further and found out…"

Jack took a breath and looked off to the side. Rose could tell that he was weighing some decision in his mind. Looking back at her, Jack continued.

"We found out that things…weren't what we thought. Turns out that Harry was being treated for schizophrenia. Had been since he was a teenager. I tried to tell Ian that we needed to turn the case over to another attorney, that it was best to distance ourselves, but he wouldn't do it. Said he couldn't give up on him, that everyone deserves a chance. Part of me thinks that he felt guilty that he didn't pick up that something was wrong with Harry during their time at university. When Harry realized how much we found out, his behavior just escalated from there. He disappeared for a few days before showing up at our firm and…"

Jack trailed off and wiped his face, as if he was trying to clear all traces of emotion. Rose felt hot tears prick her eyes. She could just envision the scenes playing out. Her heart ached for Jack and Sarah Jane, but especially for Ian. She already felt so emotionally vested in him, that this added information affected her greatly. Hearing how he went to bat for his friend, never giving up on him, made Rose's heart swell with admiration and something akin to pride. It showed a strength of character and feeling that endeared him more to her.

Rose was completely aware that Jack had withheld several details. He had chosen his words carefully, and she couldn't fault him for not divulging more. The event may have been public knowledge, but the intimate details were not; and Rose wasn't actually a close friend. However, that didn't dampen the desire Rose had to know everything. She had this almost unquenchable thirst to know every detail about Ian. Her Ian, because that's what he was now—hers. Rose couldn't explain it, couldn't rationalize it, but the fact remained that Cillian Smith had somehow become an integral part of her being.

Forcing herself to focus on the man before her, Rose once again reached over and squeezed Jack's hand. "I'm so, so sorry, Jack. I know that doesn't change anythin' that happened. And I know we aren't that close, but I want you to know that honestly do care."

Jack patted her hand and smiled brightly at her. "I know you do. It's one of the things I like about you, Rosie."

"Rosie?" she asked with an arched brow.

"Don't like it?" Jack chuckled.

"Normally I'd say no, but it kinda fits comin' from you," Rose answered with a smile.

"Well, I'm honored," Jack grinned, giving a mock seated bow. The two of them shared another chuckle before Jack stood up and began walking to the door. "I should probably get going. Time for you to get back to that fiery friend of yours."

"Yeah, I heard she intercepted you. You're still walking though, couldn't 've been too bad," Rose laughed.

They had just reached the door and Jack stopped and turned towards her. Grinning, he shook his head. "Not bad at all. I actually wouldn't mind a repeat performance."

Rose's eyes widened and sparkled in surprise. "Hmm… Good to know."

"I'm actually surprised your Ian made it out alive after meeting her."

Jack's face broke out in a wide knowing grin. Rose felt a heated blush instantly on her cheeks as she realized what she had let slip earlier. Jack immediately laughed and gave her a parting hug.

"Later, Rosie."

Rose couldn't help but stare wide-eyed after him, her mouth slightly agape. Shaking her head at her foolish slipup, she turned and walked straight into Donna.

"Soo…," Donna drawled.

"Soo…?"

"Bright Eyes leave?"

Rose grinned cheekily. "Staring into his eyes, were ya?"

"No!" Donna scoffed, but averted her eyes briefly. "He has eyes, they're bright, and I'm being snarky."

Rose snorted. "Sure. Keep tellin' y'self that."

"Oh shut it!"

Laughing heartily, Rose put her arm around her faintly blushing friend as the two of them returned to the kitchen.

Dr. Jillian Fields quietly read over a series of progress notes as she waited for her patient to arrive. She wasn't quite certain about what to expect from this new case, but she was slightly wary. Two days ago the head psychiatrist, Paul Holden, retired which resulted in the dividing of his caseload among the three remaining house psychiatrists. Absentmindedly clicking her pen as she read, Dr. Fields began formulating a list of questions.

According to his history, the patient came from a broken family. Parents divorced at age 9, using him as bargaining chip and pawn in their interactions. Narcissistic tendencies. No lasting relationships. Began exhibiting symptoms of schizophrenia around age 16 in the form of auditory hallucinations. Treatment stared within two months. Severe escalation of symptoms around age 25, including onset of paranoia, culminating in homicidal aggression.

Dr. Fields furrowed her brow as she reviewed the treatment prior to incarceration. There were hardly any specifics; most of the information was vague. Much was written, but it all seemed designed to confuse and divert attention from what was really significant. She recognized the name of the former psychiatrist—a celebrated physician whose legacy was marred by the discovery of unethical practices.

Her contemplation was interrupted by the sudden sound of the door opening. Looking up, she saw her orange jumpsuit cladded patient enter, his blonde hair slightly disheveled. The escorting guard physically directed the man to the seat directly across from her. The prisoner regarded her with an intense stare, and Jillian fought the urge to fidget in her seat. A sudden chilling grin crept up his cheek, almost as if he'd sensed her discomfort.

Steeling herself back into stoic professionalism, Jillian straightened her posture. "Hello, Harry. I'm Dr. Fields, and I'll be taking over your treatment. How are you today?"

Harry's eyebrow slowly arched. "And where's our dear Dr. Holden?"

"I know you're fully aware of his retirement," she said pointedly. "Dr. Holden discussed it with you in length."

"Went through with it, did he? Shame, that. He reminded me of Timmy."

"Timmy?" Jillian questioned.

"Oh don't play coy, Dr. Fields," Harry responded, a sly grin forming. "I know you're fully aware of who Mr. Timmy is. You'll not do yourself any favors playing the fool."

Her face remained completely passive as he spoke. "Did you always have an informal relationship with Dr. Rassilon?"

The muscles in Harry's face tensed and his eyes became cold as ice. "Tell me, Jillian, do you enjoy the thrill of playing Lord and Master?"

Jillian felt her heart literally skip a beat. He'd called her 'Jillian.' How had he come to learn her name? Even though it wasn't an impossible fact to discover, it was extremely unsettling to be unexpectedly confronted with it. She forced herself to take a silent, calming breath.

"Lord and Master of what?"

"Come, come, dear doctor," Harry said lowly, tilting forward. "You hold all these sullied minds in your 'educated' hands, eager to bend them to your will. To mold them for your pleasure. Spinning your web of smooth words. Does your spine tingle with anticipation? Does your pulse quicken as you sit back and wait for your work to come to fruition?"

An unnatural chill seeped into Jillian's bones, and it took every fiber of her being to appear unaffected. "You've appeared to have given a lot of thought regarding such behavior."

"It's fascinating, to hold someone's life in your hands. The power…," he trailed off, nearly shivering in delight.

"Did you feel as if Dr. Rassilon played Lord and Master with you?"

An indescribable emotion passed over Harry's eyes. "Rassilon flew too close to the sun, and went down in flames. Quite literally too. Poor Timmy… Trapped inside as his glorious estate burned to the ground. Tragic accident, that. They never found the cause, did they? Oh well…"

Taking control of the situation, Jillian turned the discussion in another direction. "Is that what you were doing with Thomas Smith—playing Lord and Master?"

"That was Judge and Jury. Sins were committed and punishment needs rendered."

Jillian arched her brow. "Needs?"

"Oh yes, my dear Dr. Fields," Harry grinned, "I'm not done yet."