Desmond didn't sleep the night before. How could he?

How could he? He tossed and turned, thought after agonizing thought flashing through his mind.

His daughter's birthday was today. Was. She died. His wife died, as well.

Why did Violet's birthday have to fall on Valentine's Day? He sat up, holding his head in his hands. The tears started, then.

Valentine's Day. The day where couples buy gifts for each other. A day for love.

He couldn't handle it. He stood, moving to the kitchen quietly. It was still early enough that Raymond was sleeping. His hands were shaking when he pulled the cork off of a bottle of wine, taking a large gulp. He winced, the alcohol burning on the way down. He took another long drink. Large, hot tears trailed down his face. It would be a while until the alcohol kicked in. He wanted the thoughts to stop.

Another long drink. He swirled the wine around in the bottle. He'd need another one. He placed the first bottle down before opening another. He grabbed the first, downing the rest of the bottle before grabbing his new one.

His thoughts were finally beginning to blur, the familiar warmth of alcohol finally coursing through him. But the tears didn't stop. He finally let out a sob, his free hand covering his face. He hunched over for a moment, sobs wracking his body. He took a shaky sip of his wine. There was a trail of wine from his mouth when he pulled away, dripping down and staining his nightshirt. He looked down.

"Goddammit," he hissed. "God…." He trailed off, a sob shaking him so much that he almost dropped his bottle of wine. He threw out a hand to place it on the counter, but ended up knocking the empty bottle of wine to the ground, where it shattered. "God -- fuck --" He didn't realize he had collapsed to the floor to pick up the shards until his hands were sliced and bloody. His mind had gone numb, in every sense of the word, blurred and grey from the wine he had consumed.

"Desmond?" He cursed at himself. He woke up Raymond. He shouldn't have -- he shouldn't have --

Hands gripped his wrists, pulling them away from the shards of glass. The floor in front of him was a mixture of blood and wine; the second bottle had tipped over. Desmond couldn't breathe, his sobs had increased tenfold at Raymond's voice. Through his blurred vision he could see Raymond gazing at him with a mixture of concern and sympathy.

"Desmond. Breathe. Just breathe."

"Raymond --" Des's voice cracked. "Raymond, they're --"

"I know."

"It hurts."

"I know."

"I -- I just --"

"... I know, Desmond."

"It's her birthday."

"It is." He helped Des to his feet. "Let's get you cleaned up and back to bed. I'll call and cancel anything you have --"

"I can't sleep."

"I'll stay with you until you do." Raymond pulled Des into the bathroom; made him sit on the edge of the bathtub before pulling out the first aid kit. He pulled out tweezers, cloths, rubbing alcohol, and white gauze. He kept it open, glancing at the cuts on Des's hands before pulling out sutures and a needle.

"This will sting." Desmond didn't respond, just sobbed as Raymond pulled the shards of glass out before wiping the blood off. He hissed when his cuts were hit with the rubbing alcohol, the cuts bubbling slightly.

Only one cut needed sutures; the others were just bandaged and wrapped up. Desmond had stopped crying at one point, his expression slowly going blank. His breathing was wet, shaky. Raymond helped Desmond slip out of his ruined shirt, tossing it on the ground before leading him back to bed.

"Just lay down and rest." Desmond did so, movements mechanical. It was silent for a long moment -- Raymond thought he had fallen asleep. Desmond suddenly spoke.

"Raymond?"

"Yes?"

"Can you get into my desk drawer?" His voice was hoarse. Raymond nodded, opening it carefully. A picture, a bow, and a lock of hair in a bag caught Raymond's attention.

"Can you give me her bow?" Desmond's voice was quiet. "I -- I need to have some part of her close to me." Raymond nodded again, picking up the small pink bow before holding it out to Desmond. He took it slowly, eyes half-lidded and cloudy. He held it close to his chest for a moment. He closed his eyes after a long moment.

"Happy birthday, my little flower," he finally muttered. "Your papa l-loves --" He couldn't finish his sentence before he broke down again, loud sobs leaving him as he seemed to close in on himself. Raymond frowned, opening his mouth to say something before closing it.

No. Best to let him grieve now. This was Des's first year without them. He needed this. He sat next to Desmond's head; he reached and stroked his hair.

It seemed like a small eternity before Desmond's loud sobs finally quieted, then disappeared completely, his breathing still hitching and hiccuping every once in a while. Raymond waited for a moment.

"Desmond?" He asked quietly. No answer. Raymond sighed; it seemed Des had exhausted himself from all the crying he'd done. It was understandable.

Desmond's face was splotchy and red, tracks made from his tears not yet dried. Raymond reached and, gently, wiped away the remaining tears.

"Sleep well. I'll be here."