TITLE: The Man Who Did Too Much
Doctor Cannon was running late. She dashed in through the waiting room, but it empty.
"Is Gwen here yet?" she asked the receptionist.
Gwen Littleton was always exactly on time for her therapy appointments, in spite of an apparent reluctance to come at all. Dr. Cannon frowned and went into her private office.
She almost didn't see the man in the perfectly pressed trench coat sitting quietly in the chair in the corner. She glanced back at the receptionist, who showed no sign that she knew he was there. But there he was, sitting where he would see her before she saw him. Neat, quiet, exuding
control like a goddamn spy. Exactly what you'd expect from Gwen's description, except Dr. Cannon had pictured him carrying a lance.
"You're George," she said.
"George Starling. Yes." Slight accent, vaguely British to go with the trench coat and the cool, lurking presence.
"Gwen sent you, didn't she?"
She slammed the door and threw her papers on the desk, then calmed herself and went to sit behind it. He sat forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and watched her.
"I can't talk to you about her," she told him.
"I'm aware of that."
"Then why are you here?"
"I believe Gwen was under the impression that I could talk to you instead.
"You can't take her therapy for her."
"It was that or cancel."