"YOU WANTED ME TO come, mister Parker?"

The director always had seemed to be a nervous man, but now that anxiety seemed to have skyrocketed. He was unable to sit still, voice quivering as he had taken a place beside Helene, as if he was even afraid of her. Helene couldn't help but wonder how he had managed to rise to a position like this with so little courage, but then again, money always seemed to work wonders with people. Everyone forgot fear at the right price.

"I did," Nathan smiled, gaze slowly wandering over the director," you took your time coming here, Sawyer."

Helene couldn't help but think how absurd it sounded to have a serial killer on first name basis with the director, while the latter addressed him formally. Dante seemed to have the same thoughts, frowning as he looked from the director back to Nathan, but for once refraining himself from speaking. A wise choice. He probably didn't want his punishment to become even longer than it was already.

"I -" Sawyer began, cheeks flushed as his gaze anxiously flitted towards Helene," why am I here?"

"Didn't your guards tell you?" Nathan said, raising one eyebrow," do your subordinates not respect you at all?"

No one spoke up, all their confidence gone after Nathan had spoke to Don earlier. When it came to it, none of them were willing to die for their job. Helene respected that. If anything, she wished she was like that as well, but she never had been able to do things without losing herself in her useless pursuit of perfection. She had to be the best at everything she did, even if that meant baring her youth to a serial killer who could kill her at a moment's notice, even if that meant isolating herself completely from the world.

"I heard something about a conflict," the director said, his words coming out in a rush," something with Helene -"

"Doctor Amsel," Nathan corrected him sharply," do tell me, Sawyer, when did you get close enough with my psychiatrist to refer to her by her first name?"

"You do so as well," Dante frowned, unable to stop himself.

"Are you comparing my and Helene's relationship with his?" Nathan said, slowly turning his head towards Dante," isn't it clear by now that I'm the only one who understands her truly? You pretend you do, Zarowski, to feel better, but all you see is your little sister when you look at her, don't you? Do you think this is your second chance? That you will succeed in rescuing someone else the way you weren't able to with your own blood?"

How did Nathan even have all this knowledge stored in his head? Helene stared at him almost in bewilderment, almost sure at this point that he knew everything about everyone. He probably did. Knowledge was power and he seemed to relish in it, even now smiling as Dante's face paled. She had seen her bodyguard in various stages of distress before, but nothing like this, never like this.

From the pieces of information he had given her she had already strung together that she probably reminded him of his sister, whose death most likely had been by self-destruction as well. Still, she hadn't expected to see it confirmed like this, staring at Nathan as if his eyes reminded him of a grave miles away, one decorated with white lilies and his tears. He didn't break underneath his grief, something sharp about his sorrow instead, like jagged edges of glass lying abandoned next to a broken mirror, seven years of bad luck bleeding in his hands. When Dante breathed out, all pieces of vulnerability were gone, instead replaced by an anger he had grown all too familiar with.

"Keep my sister's name out of your mouth," he said, voice not rising in volume, but loud nonetheless.

"I didn't mention her name though, did I?" Nathan smiled," but I can. What was it again, Elo -"

The guards anticipated his reaction at the same time Helene did, but still they were barely able to hold him back as they grabbed him, his hand inches from Nathan's face.

"Let me go!" Dante shouted," let me fucking go! I'll shut him up, how dare you -"

"Escort him out," the director stammered," mister Zarowski, this isn't appropriate at all."

"Don't fucking talk about being appropriate to me, you leech," Dante sneered at him," I see the way you treat everyone here, especially Helene, you disgus -"

Helene placed her hand on his lips before he could doom himself anymore, muffling his words. They echoed back in his mouth and he swallowed them, not breaking eye contact with her while doing so. The director had colored red, almost seeming like it was his face Dante had tried to smash on the table, instead of Nathan's. Meanwhile, Nathan was staring at Helene throughout it all, his eyes flicking from her hands on Dante's lips back to her.

"Dante," Helene said softly.

This is not the place, she meant to say, you'll only endanger yourself. Do not give him the satisfaction of seeing your grief, do not prolong your punishment. Instead all she said was his name, but he understood. He had stopped struggling, instead staring at her in silence, like she didn't need to say the words for him to hear them. After a moment he shook himself free, the guards letting him go now that he had calmed down, though they still watched him suspiciously. Dante didn't do anything though, glancing at Helene one last time before he left the room, his screams still warm on the palm of her hand.

"Thank you," the director huffed, straightening his blazer," I can't believe what that barbarian was thinking, it's no wonder he was sent here -"

"Director," Helen interrupted him," I think it's best to leave this conversation for later, when you will have it in the company of the barbarian you're speaking of. We don't want our prisoners and guards here to think you're not able to manage one man unless it's behind his back, don't we?"

"I -" the director stammered, the red which had stained his cheeks deepening," how could you even accuse me of that?"

"I'm not accusing you of anything," Helene said as she took her seat by the table again," I'm simply giving you advice. It's your own choice what you do with it."

Before the director could even reply Nathan already spoke up, silencing him at once, his gaze fixated on Helene.

"Why did you do that?"

"What?" she asked, even though she knew what he meant.

"Interfere," Nathan said, reaching out towards her hand but being held back by the chains before he could touch her," help him."

"The situation was escalating," Helene said," and there was no need for it to. You're my patient, I don't want you to feel endangered."

"Is that what you thought I felt?" Nathan said, fingers tapping on the table," endangered?"

"What did you feel, Nathan?" she asked.

He stared at her again and all she could think of was how he had said he was the only one who understood her. It was a sentence she had heard before, one which Zion had repeated to her so often it had almost sounded like a lullaby, and yet every time someone said it she still wished it was true. Wasn't that what everyone wanted? To be understood, to be loved? How was it that she had spent so many years being neither?

Perhaps it was that thought that made her move or perhaps it was brief insanity, but she reached out to Nathan then, fingers grazing past his. Despite the many sessions they had had already, this was the first time they had touched each other, something electric coursing through her, as if he was kissed by lightning. Nathan's ever-present amusement disappeared, his gaze flicking from her hand back to her eyes, surprised, before darkening with an emotion she couldn't decipher.

"Helene," he said, her name rolling off his lips like poetry, stained with blood which was yet to be spilled.

"Doctor Amsel!" the guards yelled, running towards them to pull both her and Nathan back at once.

That shook her out of her trance, Helene immediately pulling her hand back towards her side. What had she been thinking? It was like Dante had said, he could have grabbed her, could have pulled her closer — Why hadn't he? What had been running through his mind?

Only one guard had sufficed to pull her back, but four were on Nathan's side, though he paid them no mind. Instead his voice was like a whiplash when he spoke again, smile sweet like poisoned honey.

"Get your hands off her," he said, as if he wasn't the one being restrained as well.

"It's fine, Nathan," Helene said, smiling at the guard holding her so he would let her go," it is."

"What were you thinking?" the director said, seeming like he was going to pass out from the stress," what if you had died in front of me? Think of the scandals!"

"Sawyer," Nathan said, the director's gaze snapping towards him at once," keep in mind that Helene is my psychiatrist and mine only, so I do not appreciate  you sending her off towards anyone other than me. I trust you still like the use of both hands enough to not want to lose one?"

The guards tightened their grip on Nathan, but he didn't show any sign of it, the director practically jumping up, his chair clattering on the floor as it fell.

"Yes," he said, having paled significantly," I think that would be the best course of action."

"I'm glad we understood each other," Nathan smiled," that'll be enough for our conversation today."

Without waiting for Helene to say anything, the director already was out of the door, clutching his safety close to his heart before he lost it. Helene got up as well, gesturing for the guards to let Nathan go as she bid him farewell, ready to look for Dante.

"Helene," Nathan called out after her," you asked me what I felt earlier, didn't you? Are you still curious?"

She looked over her shoulder at him. "Should I be?"

He smiled, his words echoing after her long after she had left the room.

"Jealous," he had said," I felt jealous."