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A knock sounded on ’s office door and he looked up from marking papers.

“Lynch asked me to bring you these,” Gibbs walked in wielding a sealed brown folder.

“Just put it over there,” he gestured with the end of his pen toward a stack of things he didn’t care to look at.

The lad stood there staring at him, so he reluctantly leaned back in his chair, the rich leather protesting. “What is it?”

“Your new TA.”

“Use complete sentences,” he prodded impatiently. Gibbs scuffed his runner across the carpet before fiddling with ’s blown glass whiskey decanter. “Stop touching that.”

He only moved his ironically idle hands to the polished mahogany of ’s bookshelves. He took off his glasses and watched the lad. “Gibbs. Why are you still here?”

His grubby hands moved toward a vintage, leather-bound copy of The Iliad, and jumped up. “Stop touching things!” he boomed. Gibbs’s hand shot back like he’d been burned, his eyes wide. “What do you want ?”

“Th–the girl. The one who—” His words broke off and he glanced at the open office door, his voice lower when he continued. “The one who sells us cadavers. She’s your new TA.”

“Jesus Christ.” pinched the bridge of his nose. “Tell me, do you smoke?”

“Em. At the pub, I guess.”

rose and fastened the middle button of his jacket. “Get the door.”

Gibbs did as he was instructed and went to the sideboard. “I take it you’ve officially met Miss Morrow, then?” he said as he poured a finger of whiskey each into two glasses.

“Yes, sir. She just moved into our suite on Third at Briseis.”

’s hands stilled mid-pour. “In the green room?”

“Yes, sir.”

sighed. “Stop with that ‘sir’ shite.”

“Sorry.”

handed him the glass of whiskey. “You’re a squirrelly lad, aren’t you?”

Gibbs eyed the amber liquid in his glass. “Em. It’s 1 p.m.”

“And? Aren’t you in college, for the second time? Live a little.”

Gibbs shrugged and took a sip. tried not to laugh when he wheezed. “Ugh. That burns .”

“That’ll put hair on the chest of even the most Irish of men.” clapped him on the shoulder and retrieved his cigar box from the drawer of the sideboard. He opened it and told Gibbs to pick what he’d like.

“Are those brown cigarettes?”

“Cigarillos,” clarified, biting back his horror at this uncultured swine. Handing one to Gibbs, he took one out for himself. “Thin cigars.”

It was clear he had never experienced cigars. had half a mind to pull out a pipe and see what he would do. Instead, he withdrew a matchbox from his trouser pocket to light the cigarillos for them both and gave Gibbs no instruction. Call it an experiment. A curiosity.

One go at it and Gibbs was coughing, banging a fist against his chest. “Jesus,” he gasped.

“You’re supposed to puff it, not inhale it,” told him calmly, pointing to a pitcher of water on the sideboard.

Gibbs filled a glass and returned to his seat with watery eyes. “How do I do this?”

“Good on you not giving up.” unbuttoned his coat and sat opposite him, showing him how to puff a cigarillo correctly. The professor in him took it far enough to show him how to properly use a pipe and chase the puff with a sip of whiskey.

“Are we bonding?” Gibbs asked stupidly when he finally got the sequence down.

“Christ.” sighed through his nose, finishing his cigarillo and laying the stub in a crystal tray. “Please don’t make me smack you in your stupid mouth.” He leaned back in his perfectly broken-in leather cigar chair. “You came here to talk about Miss Morrow.”

“She has the room right across from mine.”

A vicious warmth burned up ’s chest. He hated that was the first thing Gibbs said. The idea that this moronic, adolescent child would daily have access to Atta’s room filled him with a peculiar fury.

Fucking hell , what was he thinking? shook the absurd emotion off. “And?”

“Oh, it’s only that. . . Well, wasn’t that your?—”

“Stop there,” he cut the lad off. “None of that is your concern. Now, if you would please spit out what your concerns are then I can go on marking papers and be where I need to be this evening.”

Gibbs tapped his cigarillo into the tray incorrectly, ashes blowing everywhere. If he took another puff, the flavour would be all wrong now. “Right. I’m just concerned I might slip.”

“Slip?”

“Say something or do something that makes her realise who I am. Or that you will and she’ll figure out we’re part of the Society.”

“She’s clever, Gibbs, but she has no reason to connect those dots. Keep your distance from her and we won’t have a problem.”

“Oh.” He looked down into his drink. “It’s just— She’s really nice and very pretty?—”

“ Not an option.” Even was surprised by the amount of venom in his voice.

Gibbs set down his glass and stood quickly, all the apprehension they’d erased drawn back in thick, jagged lines. “Right. Of course. I’ll be going, then.”

The door clicked shut behind him, and leaned his head back against the top of the chair, loosening his tie. He spent entirely too long contemplating if Ariatne Morrow and her knowledge of the macabre and botanical was going to help him or royally fuck him over.

He supposed he would find out in the morning.