even on a cloudy day

He’d seen some messed-up looking dolls while overseas, but nothing quite to that calibre.

The bathroom door slams hard enough to rattle the frame, and Jack doesn’t slow down as he grips the edge of the sink, breathing too fast, too sharp. The fluorescent lights buzz overhead, reflecting back a version of him that looks like he’s still in control. He isn’t. “Get it together,” he mutters, but it doesn’t land. His hand tightens, knuckles blanching—and then he swings. The first punch cracks the mirror, a sharp spiderweb fracture splintering out. The second one shatters it. Glass collapses into the sink and across the counter, jagged pieces biting into his knuckles, embedding deep as skin splits open.

He stumbles back a step, chest heaving, hand still half-curled like he might go again before the moment catches up. Blood drips fast, bright against the white porcelain, running down his wrist and pooling in the basin. For a second, he just stares at it—at the broken mirror, at his reflection splintered into pieces that don’t line up. His fingers flex, and the pain hits all at once, sharp enough to drag a breath through his teeth.

This is poignant because Dennis could have been near any random RR at the time, but by chance, he was by this one.

Where he heard the short, sharp shatter.

A hand mirror? A trinket? The bathroom mirror itself?

Trying the handle in case he needed to call a Code or Security, Dennis found the bathroom door handle unlocked, and—

Blood, mainly. Lots of blood.

He heard mumbles— the scantest tail-end of Abbot’s murmurings— but he hadn’t caught enough to make sense of them.

“Wait,” he told Jack firmly. He didn’t say anything else.

He glanced to Dana, but she was turned away.

He’d have to start filing this report later.

Dennis’ long curls trickled sweat down the back of his neck as he moved to a first-aid kid stocked on the wall.

“Need help?” Santos quizzed shortly as she passed with a patient on a gurney. Dennis shook his head shortly.

“No. Thanks,” he said (in that order), gathering gauze and glue and pads and lots of wipes into his hands.

He moved back to the bathroom in a hurry, half expecting a trail of blood to betray Dr Abbot’s disobedience.

What the fuck had happened? Hallucination?

Anger, probably.

Dennis kicked the door back open after checking behind it was clear and moved back inside.

Abbot’s breathing was so loud in the bathroom.

“Scale of 1 to 10?” Dennis asked at face, trying to focus Jack’s attention on him.

Hands bled a lot, like the head and face. Lots of vessels. It wasn’t always as bad as…

"Oh, good! Because it's a harmless— Like, it doesn't need to be a... a date, or, whatever, just...a coffee. Of course."

He cleared his throat, his eyes skirting about like the rat people still sometimes brought up when talking to him.

"Dr. Robby said...something similar earlier today and, uh... I hadn't noticed? Y'know? I just like the work, it's very...physical and...rewarding."

He looked up and over to her, having been trying to pretend to pay attention to the board.

"A-anytime? Er, next...week? Tomorrow? Or, I dunno, when do you have— plans?"

He listened...and heard. He didn't necessarily agree.

"Thank you, Dr. McKay." He murmured to her. "Really, the farm work...kind of prepares me for...clocking back in?" He cleared his throat. "Being outside in the sun, y'know. Moving heavy farm equipment around, it's...it's different from this. It's like..." Do not say sex. "It's nice."

There are so many so readily available, it wouldn’t make sense to pocket one. Unless it was a mistake.

Or not a mistake.

Might…come in handy, I guess?

But I can explain.

“Tell me.”

“It looks like its still sealed, so…no problem.” He bent down to collect it after a quick glance around to make sure he wouldn’t be in anybody’s way, then pocketed the thing himself.

“I hear you. Something I can help out with? Waiting on labs and then the meds students’ report for my patients right now.”

The facade was too plausible— Dennis wasn’t even a little suspicious.

@bruisedconscience ∣ 🛟