Oct. 25th, 2009

guppy_sandhu: (grief)
He doesn't know how he got through the consultation. From the moment Kate said it, he felt like he'd been stabbed through the gut.

Perhaps because he had a survivor to treat. Even if it was in shock, numbly. It wasn't his moment of grief. It was Kate's moment; he felt he didn't have the right to go to pieces.


Once alone, upstairs, he turns the shower on to freezing cold and stands in it, allowing the water to hide his sobs at the loss of a good friend, someone who looked after him, someone he might have been able to save had things been different. The coldness acting as something, anything, that takes away some of the pain inside.

When he can't stand the cold any longer, he dries off and goes back into the bedroom, shivering slightly as he wraps himself up in his dressing gown. He checks under the bed, and in the cupboards, just in case any of the alcohol he previously stashed over the years is still there. It's not. Damn. He kicks hard at the cupboard door, causing it to break in half.

"...Shit."

He can't deal with it right now, so he prods the remains of the cupboard door under the cabinet. He goes back into the bathroom, sits on the floor with his head on his knees, and tries to fight off the waves of panic and ache inside.

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August 2019

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