(Untitled)
Guppy has had a much less eventful holiday since Holby Airport decided to, very rudely, have a gas explosion on the first day.
He's now back in the bar, arranging his photos into an album with captions.
'Coral building sandcastle. Fry building sand penguin.'
( (A little later, he drops off some postcards Fry wrote for Kate, Gene and Enzo, (with a lot of help spelling what he wanted to put) before the kid decided he'd had enough writing and refused to do one for Granny.) )
He's now back in the bar, arranging his photos into an album with captions.
'Coral building sandcastle. Fry building sand penguin.'
( (A little later, he drops off some postcards Fry wrote for Kate, Gene and Enzo, (with a lot of help spelling what he wanted to put) before the kid decided he'd had enough writing and refused to do one for Granny.) )
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(Well, he knows what he's doing; he knows he's exhausted and feels like shit all the time. And he knows that he's tired of feeling like this.)
But no matter the reason, Alex finds himself gravitating in Guppy's direction the moment he spots him in the bar. Unlike the last time he saw the doctor, he's managed to acquire a comfortable-looking sweatshirt from the bar that does a fair job of hiding his bruises and the bandage on his wrist, but it can't do very much to hide the pale tint to his skin or the way exhaustion practically radiates off him like body heat.
"Dr. Sandhu?"
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"Hi Alex. How are you doing?"
He pushes out a chair for him, trying to keep it casual so as not to scare him off.
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(Maybe this wasn't such a good idea, after all.)
"Sorry, I didn't mean to - "
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"It's no problem, I'm just arranging my holiday snaps. These are my kids; Fry's nearly three, Coral's just turned one."
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He has no idea what the second sentence means, but awwwwww.
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