He almost called her back. She hadn't said a word, not to argue, not to press her question. Foreman looked away from the reflections in the window when she stood up and watched as she gathered the file and headed for the door. His voice felt caught in his chest, beating against the inside of his ribs as if it could burst out even if he forced his mouth closed. All it would take was her name, her eyes meeting his, and then maybe she'd see how much it hurt to keep things to the bare bones instead of asking her what the hell she'd been thinking. But the door hushed closed, and he hadn't said a word.
Foreman pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes as if he could physically push away the headache that was threatening to split his skull open alone the coronal suture. He should be good to go for as long as Casey wasn't in stable condition. He'd pulled twenty-four, even forty-eight hour shifts, but right now he knew if he didn't get some sleep, he wouldn't be able to think well enough to stay on top of the case. He reached out and grabbed the file. In a while. Food, coffee, maybe snatch a few hours' nap. He'd take care of that. First he wanted to go through every last second since Casey had been admitted. Try to put the pieces together.
There was nothing easy about it. It was like trying to force three different jigsaw puzzles into one picture. Sometimes when he worked this hard, the words started to mix on the page, and his heart started to pound, cold sweat breaking out in his armpits and down his back. What if he couldn't read? Couldn't do any damn procedures or even remember what the hell he was supposed to be doing? Foreman pushed the file away sharply. He was just tired. That was all it was. He knew what the hell he was doing, it was just this damn headache.
Standing up took more effort than it should. Foreman tugged his tie loose and pulled it over his head, then fumbled his suit jacket off and left it hanging over the back of the chair. He could still work the goddamn coffee machine. No spatial issues. No processing problems. He waited for the coffee to drip through and made up two cups, one the way Amber liked. He couldn't do anything else, but maybe this would be enough to tell Amber that once they were out of here--once the case was done--they could talk. He put lids on the cups and headed down to the lab where the diagnostics fellows usually worked.
Amber was there, bent over a microscope. Foreman pushed the door open and silently headed across to her bench, setting the coffee at her elbow before sitting down on a stool. "You need food?"
no subject
Foreman pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes as if he could physically push away the headache that was threatening to split his skull open alone the coronal suture. He should be good to go for as long as Casey wasn't in stable condition. He'd pulled twenty-four, even forty-eight hour shifts, but right now he knew if he didn't get some sleep, he wouldn't be able to think well enough to stay on top of the case. He reached out and grabbed the file. In a while. Food, coffee, maybe snatch a few hours' nap. He'd take care of that. First he wanted to go through every last second since Casey had been admitted. Try to put the pieces together.
There was nothing easy about it. It was like trying to force three different jigsaw puzzles into one picture. Sometimes when he worked this hard, the words started to mix on the page, and his heart started to pound, cold sweat breaking out in his armpits and down his back. What if he couldn't read? Couldn't do any damn procedures or even remember what the hell he was supposed to be doing? Foreman pushed the file away sharply. He was just tired. That was all it was. He knew what the hell he was doing, it was just this damn headache.
Standing up took more effort than it should. Foreman tugged his tie loose and pulled it over his head, then fumbled his suit jacket off and left it hanging over the back of the chair. He could still work the goddamn coffee machine. No spatial issues. No processing problems. He waited for the coffee to drip through and made up two cups, one the way Amber liked. He couldn't do anything else, but maybe this would be enough to tell Amber that once they were out of here--once the case was done--they could talk. He put lids on the cups and headed down to the lab where the diagnostics fellows usually worked.
Amber was there, bent over a microscope. Foreman pushed the door open and silently headed across to her bench, setting the coffee at her elbow before sitting down on a stool. "You need food?"