[Takes place before the final thread.]


While this wouldn't be Jill's first time in a courtroom, it would be her first time sitting in the witness' chair. As the FBI's lead investigator in the case of Travis Dunegan, a Springfield, Ill. native who was overseeing an international human trafficking ring with the help of a vampire cult just south of the Loop, Jill was to give a deposition making the prosecution's case for the harshest penalty possible.

The shift in roles made Jill nervous, and she sat alone in a room adjacent to the courtroom with her left leg bouncing up and down. The silence of the room made the agent even more uneasy. She stared at the mahogany table in the center of the room, she stared at the window with half-drawn blinds, barely letting in the July sunshine. She stared at the painting across from her of a Chicago judge from days gone by, whose name she didn't know.

Jill was also on-edge because she knew who represented Travis. Not only was Wolfram & Hart doing everything it could -- probably literally -- to make sure Travis never saw the inside of a jail cell, the firm was probably also in on the trafficking network. The agent had no proof of this, but her experience as a former attorney with the firm was enough to give her an educated guess.

She fiddled with the small silver cross hanging around her neck. She'd taken every precaution to make sure the judge and the jury and the prosecution would protect themselves against whatever tactics Wolfram & Hart would employ. The FBI never explicitly said this, but Jill had a feeling they considered her invaluable because of her experience with and knowledge of that law firm. Considering how many dirty pies Wolfram & Hart had its demonic fingers in, it made sense.

( It's a pity, really(Adult Content: Violence) )

"You'll forgive me for not being scared."

Days like this made Jill wish she hadn't quit smoking. She remembered how a long drag of nicotine would calm her nerves and give her a momentary reprieve from the daily stresses of her job. Granted, that was a different job, but the longer Jill called the halls of the FBI Chicago Division on West Roosevelt home away from home, the more she realized being an agent was almost as stressful as being a lawyer.

Perhaps more so.

"I know exactly how they operate, Your Honor," she spoke into the black receiver, swiveling back and forth in her black leather chair. "Probably better than you realize. Trust me when I say you're gonna want to protect your grand jury -- mystically."

( Time for herself )

Normally, Jill didn't like meeting potential informants after dark in the back of some dim, noisy establishment. Sure, the presence of alcohol was nice -- the agent couldn't remember the last time she'd had a beer -- but the idea of interviewing someone for a case with a backdrop of deafening techno left much to be desired.

Thankfully, top-of-the-line, government-issue voice recorders drowned some of that noise. Still, the whole thing seemed seedy and, to be perfectly honest, a bit cliche. Jill felt like she was on an episode of Alias or The X-Files or even The Sopranos.

She just hoped this informant didn't wind up dead after talking to her.

The agent scanned the crowd, surprisingly dense for a Wednesday night. Several co-eds were drunkenly dancing all over each other. They must've thought it sensuous, but Jill found it to be incredibly clumsy. Not to mention, girls like that were often vampire bait. Who better to pick off for a meal than an intoxicated, possibly horny co-ed?

( Kinda Secretive )

"Yes, Maureen, I saw the article.

"I didn't think that was our jurisdiction. Local authorities already made the arrest, near as we can tell, all of the murders have occurred within the city limits. I mean, I guess you could make a case for the police commissioner, but doesn't the FBI have more pressing matters?

"Well, there's the Lincoln Park case. There's the thing with Elfleda invading and defacing government property. I'm even hearing rumblings of a mafia underground in the city -- who knows where that could lead.

"And what could we do? Can we really hold a Slayer, even a potentially unstable one?

( Guessing )

It was different. Warner had never been inside one before. The rich colors, the smell of the old wooden pews, the candlelight flickering and dancing patterns across the walls; it filled him with a deep sense of something. Unease? Disgust? Fear?

He had to remind himself why he was here. He was only using this as his stage, the template for something greater. The hybrid would twist this place into something new and dark, like the deep pit of black that he just knew resided within him. He had eschewed his usual leather jacket, choosing a black wool coat instead, a pale blue button-up dress shirt. His hair was neater.

Making his way to the front of the church, he dug around deep in his memories. They were like dusty treasures, musty relics of a time when he could feel acutely. He'd need them, if he was to be convincing. Thinking of these old resentments and the wrongs that had been done to him, he let them cut into his guts, as if he were cutting into his flesh with a tangible, sharp object.

One figure of sympathy, coming right up.

Though Our Lady of Victory was largely abandoned at this late hour -- only a priest coming in every 20 minutes or so to make sure the candles on the altar were still lit and nothing was on fire that shouldn't have been -- Jill wasn't bothered by the solitude. In many ways, she actually preferred it. She could appreciate the beauty of a full congregation on Sunday morning, hanging on the pastor's every word and singing hymns in unison, but most of the time, the agent preferred her conversations with God to be private.

( Manipulation )

Sitting on a bench under the large glass atrium of Crystal Gardens on the top level of Navy Pier, Kathleen typed a quick email on her iPhone to a friend serving overseas in South Korea. The fountains nearby began their synchronized water dance, streams of water leaped over into the next fountain and formed water arches over the walkways, among the palm trees. The gardens were a quiet place this time of year with the Pier Park and Ferris wheel closed for the winter season.

Inside and below on the main level of Navy Pier people walked to and from the restaurants and the shops. Navy Pier used to be a large commercial pier for freighter and passenger ships that sailed the great lakes. During World War I, the pier was converted to house several regiments of soldiers and sailors training to go over to Europe. After the war when the troops left, there had been an emergency hospital located on the pier for a short time, till it started to become more of a place for recreation and clubs. Then when war came again in the 1940’s the pier had the unique history of being the place where the great lake carrier was docked and navy pilots qualified for carrier landings and take offs. One of those pilots had been George H. W. Bush. There was lots of history made on this pier, and business deals too as the pier became one of the prime locations for conventions in modern times.

Kathleen had come to Navy Pier early and waited for Jill to arrive. It had been a long time since she had last ate at a Bubba Gump's Shrimp Company Restaurant. After all these years, Bubba was right. Bubba Gump’s was a household name with a quirky theme. Kathleen loved it.


Though her time as a hotshot lawyer gave Jill an appreciation for fine dining -- the kind where the bill often pushed $500 when all was said and done -- there was something to be said for eating at places like Bubba Gump's. Maybe it was her desire to remove herself as much as possible from her days as a lawyer, but Jill found pleasure in a lot of simple things she would've once shunned.

Meeting a friend for dinner was one of those things.

( Life is like a box of chocolates )

Nights like these made Brian Andersen wish he was still on the streets.

Not that he minded the pay, which was leaps and bounds over what he made when he was pulling desk duty in one of Baltimore’s overworked precincts. But the late hours, the fact that he hardly had any time to shave anymore – not to mention the near-daily interactions with the one law firm he was convinced was going to be the end of this planet – it was starting to take its toll.

Then again, it didn’t help that Brian was already a pessimistic sort. Long estranged from his family, Baltimore’s new district attorney was single and had gone three years since his last date. That was by choice, thanks in large part to Brian’s single-minded dedication to cleaning up this city.

His latest case was proving to be quite difficult, which was why Brian was still in his office, pouring over legal texts even as the clock struck midnight. Colleagues could tell him to go home until they were blue in the face, but until he put this scumbag away for extortion, drug trafficking and child prostitution, this office was Brian’s home.

“And here I thought I had long hours.”

( Maybe Not Ever )



[NPC Brian Andersen was written by Jeff.]

She pulled the glass door open, and then walked into Danny’s Subways and Gourmet Sandwiches. There were already a few people queue up to order meals. She only wanted something quick to take back with to her hotel room downtown. Toby was out, probably at his martial arts class, she was not sure, and Alec had been kind, but she did not want to impose more of the doctor’s time. It meant she would have her dinner alone again tonight.

Normally, she may not have thought anything of eating by herself, but ever since this dark entity ruined her lab and left her a personal message, she needed some sense of security. She thought she had gotten over it after spending time back home with her parents and old friends. They had strengthened her, and surrounded her with support. She had become accustomed to not being left alone for long periods of time during her visit.

( Adapting to the Windy City )

( Voice Message for Jill Andersen )


Finally, after she ordered her gourmet turkey club sandwich, she stepped to the side with all the others waiting for their complete order. This would give her enough time to finish the text message she had started while in line. She had promised to send Alec her contact information.

( Text Message for Dr. Alec Reed )

“Pause it.”

The grainy black-and-white footage stopped on Jill’s command, freezing the image of a nebulous black figure. The agent squinted her eyes and leaned in for a closer look, her eyes taking in that form and what destruction that camera shot could find. The destruction wasn’t Jill’s focus, though – she’d already seen the high-resolution photographs taken at the scene.

Rather, Jill wanted to confirm or negate the suspicion she’d held since talking to Kathleen in Montana: that Elfleda was responsible.

“What is it, Agent Andersen?” Scott, the Chicago field office’s video technician, asked.

( You could say that )

Jet lag was a bitch.

It never bothered Jill going east-to-west, either; it only reared its ugly head whenever the agent went from west to east. Considering Jill had landed in Chicago from Montana two nights prior, jet lag was still tugging at her. It was annoying at best, exhausting at worst, but she couldn't take much time to let herself catch up. Not only did Jill have to continue investigating Lincoln Park and the incident in Kathleen's lab, but there was an incident over the New Year where the barricade was compromised.

In predictable fashion, the FBI wanted Jill to look in on that too; it was almost as if Jill was the Bureau's designated go-to agent for all the weir stuff. Something supernatural happened? Give it to Jill; she'll know what to do, and it won't weird her out. Which was true ... assuming the agent didn't have to see anymore mutated cannibal babies. Those would make half her former co-workers shiver with disgust.

Or so she hoped.

( The Things We Know )

After she passed through the metal detector and retrieved her purse from the security guard, Kathleen went straight to the elevators. A handsome man in a dark suit and a travel mug in his hand had already pressed for the lift. She glanced at him, and noticed through his open suit jacket that he was armed with a gun in a brown leather holster on his belt.

“Good morning,” he greeted after he caught her looking at him.

“Good morning,” she replied. It was technically morning, but it was much closer to being noon. Ding. The elevator arrived empty.

“After you,” he insisted, and she obliged. She was not going to argue with a man that carried a gun. Inside the elevator she quickly pressed the 3rd floor button, and the man in the suit followed. “Hey, I’m on the third floor, too.” The doors closed and the man leaned back against the wall as the elevator started up. “Here to visit someone?”

He was friendly, she thought. “Yeah, an FBI agent,” she replied looking up at the taller man.

“Well, I don’t have any appointments, so you must be meeting with the Special Agent from the Chicago office. Dr. Kathleen Forbes?” He said with a smile as if he knew everything that went on in his jurisdiction.

“That’s me. So you’re an FBI agent too, then?” the elevator stopped and the door began to open. “I should have known, gun, dark suit, coffee mug,” she smirked.

“Damn the coffee mug always gives me away,” he grinned and lifted up his travel mug. “Special Agent Chris Rogers,” he nodded. “I’ll walk you over to where Andersen is at.”

( Whirlwind )

[Takes place before "Hungry, Thirsty Roots."]




As much as Jill had buried herself in her work of late -- investigating, interrogating and drafting report after report on Lincoln Park -- she was glad to have a little time off for the holiday. Any more 19-hour days would've led to burnout, and the agent sighed with relief yet again as she sat at one of the many coffee shops in Chicago, deciding to give Caribous Coffee a shot over Starbucks.

Jill didn't have all that many people to shop for this Christmas -- ironically enough, her social circle was smaller now than it was when she was supposedly the Golden Child at Wolfram & Hart -- but she wanted to make sure she did something for the few people she considered friends. Two bags sat in the chair next to the agent as she nursed her very hot mug, holding a few gifts she'd picked up for her boss at the FBI and Kathleen, with whom she'd formed a friendship with on top of their professional association.

Jill enjoyed how her mug felt in her grasp as the temperatures outside dipped into the single digits. She grew up in the cold in Baltimore, so Jill fully expected to have to bust out the coats and the scarves come December, but nothing could've prepared the agent for the frigid reality of winter along Lake Michigan.

Still, it beat living in the desert -- for any number of reasons.

New boots. In all his years, on his list of priorities, footwear was low on Whistler's totem pole. It never seemed to matter if the soles were worn, a small patch of newspaper inside covered the main issue. If there was a tear by the seam, he'd duct tape the inside. It got him by. Especially in Searchlight; it was a trivial matter to pull off his shoes outside the double-wide and empty out particles of sand before heading inside. And he could usually pass around the odd puddle if caught in a rainstorm.

But Chicago was a whole other story. The environmental beat-down was too much for his toes to bear. And of course he had to discover this right before Christmas. As much as he despised shopping for himself, he hated doing it during the busiest shopping season more. If only people knew the real Santa Claus -- the one who, yes, flew through the air in a sleigh pulled by reindeer, but disemboweled children as opposed to leaving them presents -- the malls might not be so crowded.

Fatigued, the hatted man pushed past a few stragglers at the door to the coffee shop and grabbed the nearest comfortable seat (which took a few looks and three minutes. And maybe a tiny mental push. He was that tired.)

Perhaps the only thing that felt better than the warm red mug cradled in Jill's hands was how the warmth seemed to spread over her every time she took a sip. The agent's coffee tastes weren't all that fancy -- just a regular brew, occasionally mixed in with sugar or creme of some sort. The lattes and cappuccinos of the world weren't really her cup of tea, for lack of a better term, partly because of their outrageous price comparatively speaking.

Seeing a familiar figure slump into a nearby seat, Jill couldn't help but grin a little to herself. It took the agent a few moments -- and two more sips of coffee -- before she finally remembered where she recognized the hatted man, recalling her encounter with him several months -- and a few dozen more degrees -- prior. While he'd initially freaked her out with his little trick of knowing stuff without being told, she felt at ease once he assured her he was on the Powers' side of thing and not the Senior Partners'.

Still, it was slightly disconcerting.

"Guess you don't have to read any minds to tell how cold everyone is," she mused, giving the man whose name she couldn't quite recall to show him she meant no harm.

( Statue Guy )

"Nobody's perfect." Whistler finished the last of his drink, and wiggled his toes gingerly. They were still a bit cold, and his socks were soaked through. He'd need to get out of those soon enough or it would be the cold from hell, round two. "Hey, on your way out, could you get 'em to send over another latte? And ooh, a chocolate cookie. Those never go outta style."

Jill laughed, standing and leaving a couple dollars' tip under the empty mug. "Sure thing," she said, walking past Whistler and making sure to discreetly drop her business card at his feet. Her office phone number was on there, as well as her cell phone. A government-issued cell phone number was also on the card, as well as an email address. Three ways for Whistler to get in touch with her, if the need arose.

"Have a Merry Christmas," she added before approaching the counter, placing the extra order and paying.

TO: DIRECTOR, FBI; CHICAGO DIRECTOR, FBI

FROM: FBI SPECIAL AGENT 438-2B

SUBJECT: Investigation into fallout from Community Area 7.


This communication is classified “TOP SECRET” in its entirety.

Enclosed for the Bureau is an envelope which contains a possible classified document.

On December 10, 2013, FBI Special Agent Jillian Andersen conducted her first investigative tour of the facilities in which the UNITED STATES ARMY has conducted its investigations of the June 22, 2012 incident in Chicago’s Community Area 7 (otherwise known as Lincoln Park). Her tour included a debriefing with Captain Kathleen Forbes, M.D. AMEDD (Army Medical Department), a helicopter tour over the quarantine zone and an interview with Dr. Joaquin Espinoza at Argonne National Laboratory.

This report was compiled and submitted by FBI Special Agent Jillian Andersen, Chicago field office. The contents of this report are highly classified as decreed by the Federal Bureau of Investigation and are intended solely for the Chicago Director and the National Director based in Washington, D.C.

Classified Dec. 19, 2013




( Top Secret - Eyes Only )

Why couldn’t crosses work just as well on demons as they did on vampires?

Probably because that would be too easy. All Jill had wanted to do was run back to her office real quick, grab the laptop she forgot to pack up before heading home for the day. It wasn’t even like she was outside in the dark for long – just the half-minute it took to get from the parking lot to the main entrance of the Chicago field office, located on Roosevelt.

Apparently, 30 seconds was all the demon needed to hunt her down. Jill began running down the sidewalk, glad she’d put on sneakers before heading back to the office – those heels she wore at work would be useless at this point.

Looking over her shoulder, the agent noticed she’d never seen this particular breed of demon before. It looked like one of those spitting dinosaurs from Jurassic Park in the face, what with those flaps on either side, but the rest appeared to be humanoid – two arms, two legs, all that good stuff – aside from the scales.

Yeah, the scales were definitely weird.

( Demon Dumping Etiquette )

Even with having to wait for Dr. Espinoza to meet with her, Jill couldn't hide the smile on her face. After all, it wasn't every day one got to see the United States military in action, taking down a large fire-breathing monster with a swiftness and efficiency unlike anything the agent had seen from someone who wasn't gifted with supernatural powers. The more Jill learned of the reality on the other side of the Lincoln Park barricade, the more she was starting to get a sense for what the FBI wanted her to do.

It didn't make that job any easier, but at least Jill now knew what that job was.

The agent waited in one of the lobbies at Argonne, knowing Dr. Joaquin Espinoza would meet with her and maybe show her one of the specimens being held in captivity. Seeing some of the mutants "in the wild," so to speak, had been an eye-opening experience, and Jill wanted to know just what the military and its scientists did with the ones they captured. Jill already knew the cause; now she wanted to see the effect.

Even if it meant seeing some potentially grotesque and scary things. That thought didn't really bother Jill; a lot of things didn't seem quite so scary anymore after the agent spent nearly a decade with Wolfram & Hart. She stared David Gregor in the eye twice and cut him down, so as far as Jill was concerned, some monsters weren't going to make her shake in her incredibly expensive shoes.

Joaquin Espinoza was a genius.

Born in Havana, he emigrated to the States as a toddler when his parents fled Castro's regime in a barely-seaworthy tugboat. Landing in Florida, the family was detained by the government while they applied for and were granted asylum. He became a naturalized citizen at the age of four and got his education in American schools. Intelligent and curious, he made his early mark in science courses, and once he graduated from high school he was offered a full scholarship to attend Northwestern University. Upon graduation, he accepted a job with the Pentagon, researching the effects of both natural and unnatural medical conditions inflicted on the human body.

Plainly put, mutations.

The Lincoln Park incident had attracted quite a lot of attention, and when Espinoza got word that he was to be transferred to Illinois to head up a long-term research project on the outcome of a mysterious portal opening up and infecting a large portion of the residents, he considered it to be the jewel in his crown. Not only was he given free reign to recruit the most promising technicians and lab workers for his staff, he didn't report directly to anyone except for a few highly-placed military personnel. Even when the hard data started to dry up, what with no one being allowed within the quarantined zone to investigate, the doctor continued his work doggedly.

Espinoza was a small, neat man with short-cropped dark hair and a mustache he was always smoothing with his index finger. He was currently sitting in front of a computer terminal, recording some of the results from his latest round of tests. The keys on the high-tech machine were almost silent, the screen flickering softly as he typed. Only the best money could buy for the brightest star on staff. Given time, he'd be able to publish his work, at least in certain quarters. Theories were all very nice, but this was the real deal.

This was science.

( Maddened )

"No, thank you," Jill said with a smile and a shake of her head. "I have to get back to my office now. It's been an ... informative day."

Shaking Dr. Espinoza's hand, Jill made her way back down the blank hallway, leaving the complex much the way she came. She clutched at the cross on her neck again, shaking her head and feeling the tears building in her eyes again. The agent had done a remarkable job to this point of holding back her emotional response to what she had seen, but now that she was on her own and back within the realm of her private thoughts, Jill felt no such need to hide the way she felt anymore.

Within minutes, Jill had gone through the necessary channels and security protocols to leave the Argonne complex, returning to the civilian side of the city. Before starting the engine to her car and heading back to the office, Jill closed her eyes and rest her forehead atop the steering wheel, gripping the sides with her hands. One tear became two, which turned into three, until the agent wound up sobbing quietly in the confines of her vehicle. She couldn't get the image of Andrea Turnbull without an arm out of her head, and it really hurt knowing what happened to that arm.

After a few minutes, Jill wiped her eyes and glanced at her reflection in the rear-view mirror. Going to the office looking like this would do her no good; Jill retrieved a napkin from the glove box and dabbed under her eyes, sniffling and wiping away the last few tears that managed to fall. The agent shook her head, finally starting the motor and buckling her seatbelt.

The office could wait. First, Jill needed to get to church -- she wanted to pray for Andrea and Cain.


[NPC Dr. Espinoza was written by Stargazer.]

(From Briefing, Part 1)

Jill was never one to get airsick.

Good thing, too, considering the speed and maneuverability of the blackhawk in which she and Kathleen were riding. It amazed the agent all the equipment at the disposal of the United States military, and she couldn't hide the smile on her face as the helicopter swung low through the air. She realized this wasn't a leisure trip -- anything but -- but Jill still had this sensation like she was 12 years old again, traveling south from her home in Baltimore with Daniel Richards to visit the Busch Gardens in Williamsburg, Virginia.

The roller coasters had been her favorite, especially Alpengeist. Somehow, riding in one of these felt remarkably similar, and even though Jill knew what eventually became of her and what she eventually did to Richards, the agent could still look back on that time and smile. The good times were just that, and gone were the days where Jill would allow Wolfram & Hart's presence to sully those memories.

The agent's hair whipped in the breeze generated by the aircraft, and Jill was thankful for the extra coat and gloves lent to her. There was cold, then there was this. Had it not been for all those rainy and snowy winters in Maryland, Jill would find the current conditions downright unbearable. As it was, they were but a mere nuisance.

"What are we looking at now?" she called to the doctor, pointing and raising her voice over the hum of the chopper.

Kathleen, sitting next to Jill inside the cabin facing toward the rear of the air ship with the air crew behind her in the cockpit, she leaned over to see where Jill pointed. Her seat restraints prevented her from leaning too far into Jill’s space. What she saw was a snow-covered field, which the Blackhawk started to hover over at about 50 feet from the ground. She had no idea where they were over Lincoln Park, but it did look very deserted.


The captain tapped Jill’s leg to get her to look at her, and then pointed to her own head set, and then grabbed a little button on the wire. “I don’t know. Use the head set, Jill,” she demonstrated by holding down the button. “We’ll be able to hear you better.” She smiled knowing from experience that it was easy to forget to use it. When she first trained with the air ambulance crew when she was new to the army, she had to be reminded too.


She looked over to the infantry officer seating across from them on the opposite bench. “Lieutenant, what are we looking at?”

( Hover and Wait )

Kathleen had answered her page from the clerk in the administrative office that Special Agent Andersen had arrived for her appointment. “Sergeant, please tell her that I will be down in a few minutes.” She then hung up the phone. Her eyes read the hands of her watch to confirm the time. Jill had arrived earlier than expected.

She quickly saved her reports, closed her windows, and then logged off her laptop. The tour was going to take up most of the day, and Colonel Wentworth had personally asked that she accompany the Agent throughout the day. It was kind of cool that she was going to be the one to show Jill around, which also included a helicopter ride to Argonne National Laboratory.

At the elevator lobby, the Captain glanced at herself in a mirror, wearing her gray digital patterned combat uniform. She did not particularly like the way she looked in the Army Combat Uniform, but the new zone commander insisted that medical personnel start wearing the ACU more often while on duty at the hospital. At first glance, she looked like any other soldier in the uniform and there was nothing to indicate she was a medical doctor. The only hint that she was in the medical corps was the AMEDD shoulder patch.

Truth be told, Jill had no idea what to expect. The grainy photos in the file on Lincoln Park -- Community Area 7 -- were one thing, though disturbing in their own right. The agent was sure seeing some of the mutations in-person would be quite the startling experience, which was why she decided to forgo lunch before arriving for her briefing with Dr. Forbes. Jill was relieved to know Kathleen would be showing her the facilities, more comfortable with someone she already knew than someone who had been nothing more than a name in a file. The agent smoothed out her hair, making sure her ponytail was snug enough for the occasion.

Her badge hung off the left collar of her navy blue business suit, Jill's look decidedly more conservative than it was when she had been at Wolfram & Hart. Dress codes weren't as strict there, but more than anything it was a change in Jill's attitude. Somehow, embellished cleavage and short skirts seemed to fit the evil lawyer bitch motif, while a solid-colored business suit with slacks seemed more apropos for the whole FBI thing.

She smiled when she saw Kathleen, though it took her a moment to recognize the doctor in her uniform. She was so used to seeing Kathleen in one of her dress uniforms or a white doctor's lab coat that the combat uniform was a little unsettling. Were they going to be going behind the wall? She didn't recall that being on the agenda. Then again, it probably came with the territory -- TC/SCI clearance was a two-way street in that regard.

If you wanted to learn the truth, you had to go extra lengths to get it.

"Dr. Forbes," she said, extending her right hand in a show of professionalism.

“Agent Andersen,” she shook Jill's hand and then flashed her smile. “It’s good to see you again. How have you been?” She asked. They had shared a few oddball emails and an occasional call since the last time they met.

( Cause and Effect )