It's an unusually cool morning for this time of year. The kitchen's meagre window's cream-coloured blinds blow inward with every gust of the cool breeze that rustles through the trees that can be seen through the protective window screen not far off. Occasionally, the wooden rooster that sits atop the sill above the basin sink clacks as a particularly strong flurry of wind makes the carved animal head fall forward and bob with every gust.

The pleasant smell of roasted coffee and toasted bread hangs in the air.

Through the open doorway, the television in the sitting room is at a perfect angle to be seen from the kitchen, with the morning news playing across the screen at a low volume.

And there's a tense argument that's happening across the square pine table.

It all makes for quite a delightful morning.

Reid keeps the rim of his coffee posed against his lips and simply watches the drama unfold from his place in the middle, as he's taken the chair on the lengthwise edge of the table.

"Shut up," Kenneth grumbles. He bites into his toast angrily.

Hannah's face scrunches. "He abandoned me. I'm allowed to have my opinions on that, thank you very much. You don't have to be such an asshole about it."

Reid sips his coffee. It's grown cold. He doesn't lower the cup, looking over the rim and skirting his eyes towards whomever's speaking.

It's ironic because Kenneth and Hannah are both wrong; Hannah can't see that Kenneth is defensive because she's speaking ill about his father, and Kenneth can't see that Hannah's defensive because he's defending her withdrawn father.

Reid's not about to say this, though. He's enjoying listening.

"Milton had reasons for doing what he did. He was—"

"A good man," Hannah finishes bitterly and leans back in her chair, the wood creaking as she shifts restlessly. "Yeah, you keep saying that, but to me, he's a man that left me when I needed him. He's not good to me. Never will be."

Kenneth snorts. "I'm starting to see why he left."

Reid winces at the low blow. He debates kicking Kenneth under the table, but he doesn't want to risk Kenneth kicking him back and leaving him limping for the entire day. It's happened before.

Hannah's face twists with rage. She launches her crumb-covered plate, sending the improvised weapon skidding across the table. It almost reaches Kenneth, but Reid catches the plate with a slap of his palm.

His heart races.

Hannah's lucky Reid's quick because Kenneth doesn't have qualms about fighting a woman, and the flame behind Kenneth's green eyes as they slowly flicker to Reid's hand, the plate, and then back up, promises nothing good.

"He left me right after my mother's funeral," Hannah says with an edge of desperation that causes the room to become less delightful and more solemn. She slaps her palms with a hard whack atop the table's surface. "There's nothing you can say. It's not like he couldn't handle a kid. He took care of you, didn't he?"

Ah, the whole reason this argument started — they've gone full circle. Earlier, Kenneth had casually revealed that Milton had raised him since he was a boy, and Hannah had taken it very personally.

Kenneth keeps his gaze on Hannah and slides his plate with a lone piece of jam-covered toast between Reid's resting elbows. Kenneth absently taps at the plate to give a wordless order as he says, "I'm not going to say shit. I don't owe you anything."

Hannah's mouth falls open. She's been shocked into silence by Kenneth's brand of callous rudeness.

Reid has to hold back his laugh as he picks up the offering of toast and bites into it without actually feeling hungry. He pushes through simply because it's important to Kenneth that he eat. Reid's fine with going entire days without feeling hunger and bingeing ravenously for hours at a time. It's not a good habit, born from worse habits, but it's difficult to break, so he eats the damn toast and smiles brightly when Kenneth gives him an assessing glance.

The bread sits heavy in his gut with the cold coffee.

Kenneth runs his fingers through his brown hair and says tiredly, "Milton raised me because I wasn't you."

"A woman?"

"Fucking, no!" Kenneth leans forward with gritted teeth. "It's because I wasn't as important. He couldn't handle losing you. Don't you get it? Fighting was his entire life. He just happened to teach me along the way. And if I died, well, he never had an obligation to keep me safe. Get it?"

Hannah bites at her bottom lip. Her angry resolve is cracking, but it's become glaringly obvious she's stubborn, and the fury in her chestnut eyes hasn't abated as she glares at Kenneth from across the table. "I should have had a choice. I deserved that. If I wanted to put myself in danger, fighting monsters or whatever, it should have been my choice."

Kenneth lays his palm on his forehead and laughs sharply. He wears a smile that's dark and a bit maniac. "Okay, sure. Come out with me tonight. How 'bout it? I'll show you exactly what you're wishing for."

Reid stops midway through his toast. Does that mean he doesn't have to go with Kenneth tonight? He sure hopes so.

"Fine," Hannah says, unbothered by the dark smile Kenneth is giving her from across the table. She rubs at the bridge of her freckled nose, and it's either an itch or a nervous fidget. "I'm not scared, if that's the tactic you're trying. I'm a big girl; I can handle it."

Reid ignores the ache in his stomach as he finishes the last bite of his toast.

Kenneth snorts. "Whatever." He returns Hannah's fiery glare as he rises from his chair and begins collecting the crumb-covered dishes to bring them to the basin on the other side of the kitchen.

The kitchen falls into silence other than the faint whooshing of the tap and Kenneth angrily washing the plates with angry jerks of his elbows.

It's really quite awkward, so Reid clears his throat. "So, you, um, fell this morning?" He doesn't miss the way Kenneth's motions with the sponge slow to a standstill. "It was loud."

"Yeah. I did." Hannah twists her coffee cup, and the ceramic makes a constant swish over the tabletop. She fidgets in the chair. Her nervousness is making Reid jittery. "I, uh, do that...sometimes. Fall."

Reid grins as he takes another sip of his coffee. She's so awkward, and it's kind of adorable, even if she's so obviously hiding something. He looks at Kenneth's broad back. "Did you hear that, Kenneth? Hannah's just clumsy."

"I heard," Kenneth grumbles. He places the last dripping plate onto the drying rack on the countertop and turns off the water with a squeak of the bronze tap.

Reid gives Hannah a wide smile and gestures to Kenneth. "He was about ready to bust down your door this morning. He said he had..." He copies Kenneth's deeper tone teasingly: "A bad feeling."

Hannah looks at her coffee cup. Her lack of reaction to the tease except to pale significantly has Reid's smile faltering in confusion, and he's on the edge of prying her adorable noggin just a little bit to find out what's going on, but then, her chestnut eyes are widening as they settle on the low humming television beyond the open doorway.

"That's so..." Hannah whispers softly. She shakes her head as if trying to wake herself from a stupor.

They all end up staring at the flat screen in silence. Stock reports pass along the button, and a cheesy commercial for a mattress store flits across the screen.

On the side, in a black box with white lettering, it reads: On Tuesday night, a politician's slaughtered family was found by a neighbour. The triple homicide of the Tellers is the first murder in the gated community of Rochester. The nineteen-year-old daughter, Francine, has been said to not be among those dead, and the police aren't ruling out a possible kidnapping.

Beneath the report is a picture of curly brown hair, blue eyes, and a pretty smile. He assumes this is Francine because there's a number to call if any information is found regarding her.

Kenneth looks away from the television with furrowing eyebrows and leans his lower back against the edge of the countertop. He crosses his arms, making his biceps look two times bigger. It's unfair, really. "What? That's so...what? Murders happen all the time. Probably an assassination. He was a politician."

"It's nothing," Hannah says, taking a sip of her coffee. She places the cup down and licks her lips, her gaze flitting between both him and Kenneth as if debating to elaborate, and then, with a shaky exhale, she says, "I had a dream last night, and it was really strange. About a girl named Francine." She clears her throat. "A weird coincidence, that's all."

"Fuck." Kenneth grinds his teeth so hard that it's a surprise the tendons in his jaw don't pop.

Reid says cheerfully, "Kenneth means to say that your father had prolific dreams."

Kenneth snorts.

"He, what?" Hannah slumps dejectedly in her chair with a loud creak of well-loved wood. "I found some notebooks in his room, but I didn't think — god, does that mean what I saw last night is real?"

Kenneth sighs. "Yeah. It might not have happened yet or already has, and it doesn't always make sense. Milton always had them, and apparently the curse has been passed to you."

"Curse?" Hannah frowns.

"It drove him nuts," Kenneth says coldly.

Hannah laughs nervously. "Like, oh my god, this is driving me nuts, or I'm going insane kind of nuts."

Kenneth grits, "The latter."