At the first 'Jones', long ago memory pricked at Hestia – nearly half a lifetime ago of old memory, but there were many more of those memories to aid her recollection. Head tipped slightly, not looking at Wyatt Alexander so much as over to the side of him, she heard, in that distant way of remembering something not heard in that long, another voice pitched just the same.

'Jones, the next time you do that, if it doesn't kill you I just might.'

When the second 'Jones' was voiced, Hestia's head snapped up and met Wyatt's gaze, holding it for a moment silently before shaking her head, as though shaking off the memory. Even if this man's voice sounded the same, no doubt it was the deterioration of memories. This man looked nothing like Gideon Prewett, and Gideon Prewett was dead.

"Sorry, I'm a touch scattered these days," she said, blinking back sudden tears as she waved her hand in front of her. "Pregnancy hormones. What did you ask me?"

Mory cleared her throat, slipping a hand through Gideon's arm in order to clutch in tightly in warning. "That's all right – it's been years, but I still remember what that was like. Wyatt asked you about your line of work." She squeezed Gideon's arm again, nothing in her petite frame speaking to any tenseness, but the hand on his arm was as tight as an iron cuff.