TW: mentions of abuse, suicide

"Papa asked me to come over for dinner tonight and invited you as well." I said to Paul in greeting. My father had caught me as I was hightailing it out of the Poirot and I guiltily obliged him, knowing it had been a while since we truly spent time together.

"I'd like that. I need a break from this place..."

"What did you and David talk about?"

"Everything. And I believe him, Red. He's innocent." He stopped in front of the dorms. "I've got a few things to do upstairs. Meet you at the house?"

"Of course." I watched his slight figure retreat into the building, shoulders slightly hunched from the weight of the situation.

I very rarely left the campus since the Cat's Cradle incident, knowing I was being closely watched for any hints of further misbehavior. I felt an unfounded sense of guilt as I did so now, giving the Agent in the front booth a cheery wave as I passed.

Dusk was settling in, and the foot traffic was becoming sparse as people returned from work and settled in their abodes. As I headed towards mine, I briefly reflected on the fact that I should be apartment searching as the rest of my classmates were. San Francisco rents were astronomical, and the Agency did it's best to offer housing where it could, but many of its staff felt it necessary for their nest to be as far removed from the job as possible for peace of mind and privacy. But as I turned the key in the lock and the dark, quiet apartment greeted me, I thought how I'd become accustomed to Paul's company and would hate to come home to a scene like this every night.

Maybe he'd want to stay as roommates? I emptied my pockets on the front table and flicked the light switch. I was surprised Papa wasn't home yet, but figured he'd stopped by the supermarche or the patisserie to pick up something sweet for dessert.

I walked to my room and gratefully shed my uniform, changing into a more comfortable one of gray joggers and a matching bodysuit. My hair was still loose around my shoulders. I sprayed it with rice water that was left in a bottle on my dresser, reviving my waves. Finally feeling refreshed, I went back into the living room and settled into the sofa, tucking both legs underneath me as if I were a nesting bird.

Papa had acquired a few new coffee table books - all aviation themed, of course - but what I really wanted to peruse was at the bottom of the neat pile. I pulled the leather bound album towards me, taking a moment to follow the embossed filigree pattern on its spine before opening it.

While flying was my father's first love, photography was his second passion. He never missed an opportunity to frame a moment, whether he was in front of or behind the lens. I started at the beginning of his journey, with the scant coffee-hued pictures of his childhood, watching the golden haired toddler with a toothy grin shift into a young man who stood proudly in his olive flight suit, the unmistakable glimmer of adventure in his eye.

As I turned the pages, the scenery and faces became more familiar. There was him and Wells, dressed in their own navys, arms resting on each other's shoulders paralleling the Twin Towers behind them. Below that was shield day, Papa's being pinned on the right side of his swelling chest by a woman who would break the heart underneath it months later. I joined the narrative a few more sheets in, the initial entry of me being embraced warmly by a Detective whose fair colored hair reached her midsection.

There was a precise tap on the door. I rose with a slight groan, opening it to see Paul standing there shyly.

"It's just me." I assured, widening the entryway to let him in. "I guess Papa is running late. This isn't like him..."

Paul removed his shoes in the foyer. "I didn't want to say anything before I did my own research, Red, so don't kill me. But does it seems as if David is being framed. He's not a match for the accomplice, but ACME has no plans to let him go."

"I ran into Gil. He thinks Falcon used a lookalike to burn David because he wouldn't cooperate."

Paul joined me now as I resumed my position in the living room. "So why would Zachary tell me this?"

"To help spread the misinformation, I guess? We don't know if we have any true moles at the Agency so it's best to let the rumors fester." I began to turn the pages again. "I just don't know what to do to help David in the meantime. Do you think we'll get another visit?"

"You might." Paul snickered. "I heard about your performance."

I winked. "Hope you aren't too jealous."

"Why would I be? We had one of our own."

"Whatever, Leung." His snicker grew louder as he missed my playful swat narrowly. Now curious about the album in between us, he tilted it in his direction so he could get a better look.

"Who's that woman you're with?" he asked, resting two digits on a photo in the top right corner of me and a lady posed with a man dressed up as an FAO Schwarz soldier.

"That's the OG Red." I managed a smile despite the sadness lingering behind it. "Catherine Rouge. She shared her last name and birthday with me because I didn't really have one when I came to the Agency..."

"I've never heard you mention her before."

I cleared my throat. "She passed."

Paul turned another page, his left hand brushing my right sympathetically as he did. "I'm sorry. I can see that you must have been close."

"That's why they call me little Red, you know - I was like Catherine's shadow. I didn't have a lot of women in my life growing up, apart from the occasional girlfriend of Papa's that wanted to play house...so she's the most tangible thing to a mother I've ever known. When we lost her so suddenly..." I cleared my throat again, blinking back the sudden eye-water unsuccessfully. It dripped onto a picture of me in a lace trimmed black dress, laying flowers on a headstone.

"What happened?"

"I happened."

"Red..."

I flipped a few pages back, to show Paul a picture of Catherine sitting in the lap of a ruddy faced man with a prominent mustache. The stone on her left ring finger had caught the flash, adding extra light to their joy. "That's Charles Rex. He was the lead Detective on my case, and Catherine's fiance. After they rescued me and brought me back to the Agency...Rex received a tip from a CI about my bio-dad's whereabouts and immediately went back into the field to follow it...and returned in several pieces."

Paul choked. "God."

"Catherine was also interviewing me as ACME built their case against the participants that they did manage to collar for that one video where I was severely sexually assaulted...you know, for both the act and the distribution." Despite my attempt to be delicate, Paul's body grew rigid. I waited until he nodded before I continued. "I guess the constant rehash of the abuse material... then losing Rex in the same period of time was too much for her to take. So she ate his off duty. Closed casket funeral."

Paul opened his mouth, and then closed it. I could see the struggle play out on his countenance as he decided what to say.

I relieved him of the burden, resuming our previous place in the album as I spoke. "I've made my peace with it."

"It was never your fault."

"Yeah, that's what Papa used to say too."

"There's a photo missing here." Paul observed, changing the subject clumsily.

"My father said someone asked to hold on to whatever was there so they could make a copy but they never gave it back." My stomach rumbled. I checked my Communicator, surprised at how late it was getting and still no word. "I wonder where he could be?"

"You think he's still at the Agency?"

"I doubt it, but I'm going to call him." I said, excusing myself into the study to dial his cell. After a few attempts with no answer, I called his office. When that didn't produce results, I contacted the front desk, to see if he had swiped out.

"Yep, I remember him saying he was heading home to eat with you, matter of fact about an hour and a half ago." I could hear the sound of her chewing gum furiously as she pulled up the record to confirm. "He swiped out, yep, just like I said. Everything all right?"

"Sure." I answered slowly, even though it wasn't. I forced myself to laugh. "I guess I'm just a little anxious for him to get home."

"Hawkins is lucky to have such a loving daughter." I could hear her bemused smile. "You two enjoy your evening."

I thanked her, then rejoined Paul in the living room. He stood immediately upon seeing me.

"Red, sit down." I rarely heard him use such a commanding tone. "Did something happen?"

"I-I think so. He's not answering his phone, the desk agent said she saw him leave."

"Okay." He eased me into the chair. "Should we call one of his friends? Do you want to ping his cell?"

His soft, rational words steadied me. I shook my head yes. We both stepped back in the study, me reaching out to a few of my father's closest colleagues while Paul attempted to find my father's cell phone location.

"No one knows." I said, after calling the final person on the list.

"And I only have the last location for his phone a few blocks away from the Agency. It could have died."

I gave him an unconsciously sharp look at the last word. Paul flinched.

"We should probably head back to the campus, Red. Let them know what's going on."

"You're right. I'm sorry, Paul. Always dragging you into my messes."

His hand was comforting on my shoulder. "I wouldn't have it any other way."