(Untitled)

[ineedavicodin]

He may have seemed more grumpy than usual. Maybe he is. Maybe he just needs sleep, or...something a little more physical. He scrubs a hand over his face. He feels like crap. He pops a Vicodin, rolling it around his mouth before he swallows. His eyes close. Relief isn't instant, but he can still lose himself in those first few seconds.

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[walnutgingertea]

She had been in the lab, now she's fussing around at her desk - getting things together, changing her shoes, removing her lab coat. That done, she sticks her head into his office to tell him: "I'm going to lunch. 'Back in an hour." Then she turns to go, stopping at her desk one last time to get her water bottle before heading for the other door.

Writing the letter did make her feel better, but she isn't sure she's ready to deal with him yet. She still doesn't know what the hell he was doing. THat's the disconcerting part. She's not even looking for an apology anymore, just an explanation.

[ineedavicodin]

He's standing at the door, when she turns around again with her water bottle. "You want to know why I left? Because I didn't know what the hell I was supposed to do."

[walnutgingertea]

She didn't realize he was there. His presence makes her jump. The steps she takes away from him are involuntary, but vaguely comforting.

"What do you mean?" He always knows what to do - or, he pretends to know what to do.

[ineedavicodin]

"Nothing. Forget it." He turns, intending to go back to his desk.