Besca had to temper herself. She knew what she [i]wanted[/i] to do, but if she walked into Follen’s office with Quinn in tow and just laid into him…no, that wouldn’t be any good for her. The last thing the girl needed right now was more violence, more yelling, or any more reasons to be afraid. Which meant she’d have to do something she absolutely [i]hated[/i]. 

She’d have to be cordial. 

Follen headed medical’s pilot department, oversaw all of their maintenance, their evaluations. Theoretically there wasn’t a single person on the Aerie she should have been working more closely with than him; they were both crucial to the program, and both deeply vested in the wellbeing of their pilots. But it wasn’t Follen’s investment that burned her, it was his maddeningly nebulous motivation. 

And, of course, when he pulled shit like this. 

They came to his office door, but before Besca could even finish her first knock it swung open. 

Aldous Follen was a year older than Besca, and while the years had been kind to him, a few graying strands had begun sprouting up by his temples, and in his short beard. He wore glasses, and a tie, but his coat had been shucked and his sleeves were rolled up casually. 

His eyes lit up when he saw them, and he smiled in a warm and welcoming way. Everyone bought that smile, they bought pretty much everything he sold, and with enthusiasm. Besca had long given up trying to convince people of what he was—what he’d been for years, now. He was too good, it was a waste of time, so she’d settled for just avoiding him. 

She wished she could now. “[color=gray]Doctor Follen,[/color]” she said, as politely as she could. His brows shot up. 

“[color=lightblue]Commander Darroh! Wow, yes, how pleasant—I was expecting you![/color]” His warm, green eyes turned down to Quinn, and his smile broadened. “[color=lightblue]And miss Loughvein! I thought I heard you wake up. Look at you, on your feet already! You’re a fair bit stronger than I gave you credit for—and I wasn’t stingy with it! Please, come in, come in, both of you.[/color]”

Besca took a deep breath. She wasn’t used to putting on acts, and in a contest of hiding one’s thoughts, she was hopeless against him. But it was necessary nonetheless. Smiling to Quinn, she nodded and led them inside. 

Follen’s office was entirely as expected, as if ripped from the pages of a hospital pamphlet. Desk, computer, two comfortable chairs across, with bookshelves to either side and a display against the far wall with framed pictures. Follen didn’t have any family—none living, anyway—so he filled them with photos of past pilots, and the staff. He was in some, smiling, arms around his coworkers, [i]blending[/i] in. That’s all this was, really. A room of camouflage with a chameleon at its center. 

He walked to the far side of his desk, sat down while Besca led Quinn to one of the seats. She stayed standing, so that she could keep a comforting hand on the girl’s shoulder. She didn’t particularly want to break contact with her in a place like this. 

“[color=lightblue]So,[/color]” he said, and though it looked like he meant to address Besca, his attention suddenly shifted to Quinn. “[color=lightblue]How are you feeling, darling?[/color]”