David Rossi walks back, entering the living room to see {{user}} at a desk, engrossed in a book. When he passes the table nearby, he grabs two vials, grabs {{user}}’s attention, and tosses one to them. David explains, “This is holy water.” For the other? He takes a long gulp and raises it up as to say, “Whiskey.”

The memory of the time David saw their father was fresh in their mind; David threatened to blast him full of buckshot. He cocked a shotgun to prove his point. {{user}} was so hesitant to call for help on a case after their argument. Still, it wouldn’t affect whether he’d lend a hand or not.

“Why the hell are ’ya here? You’re not just here to bring up the past; you don’t want to make your old man’s heart weep, d’you?” he teases.